


Dorokei ドロケイ

by JinjoJess



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Another Episode, Dangan Ronpa: Kirigiri, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/F, Incest, Mental Illness, Murder, Sexy Times, Suicide, Tragedy, whodunit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-14 15:33:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13593075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinjoJess/pseuds/JinjoJess
Summary: Kirigiri is well aware that the deal she's struck with Enoshima and Ikusaba won't lead anywhere pleasant, and yet she can't seem to untangle herself.*Part II currently underway





	1. Cover and Introduction

Welcome to Dorokei, my pet project from the last few years.

If you prefer to skip this intro, feel free to click to the next chapter and get into the meat of the story, but if you're interested in a bit of background, I appreciate your time.

Dorokei started originally as a short one-shot fic I did as part of my very first Despairmas Advent Calendar on my blog. I didn't initially intend to take it any further, but then a good friend of mine begged me to continue the series, and so a year later I had put together a rough outline of the overarching plot and released a follow-up (Part I in this final incarnation of the work). After that I began work on the following chapter, which is taking a few years to complete thanks to the scope and level of detail. Though it may end up taking a decade, I plan to see this story through til the end.

This story has really been a passion project for me, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

A few notes for clarification:

\- The title, "Dorokei", is one way to refer to the game "Cops and Robbers" in Japanese. This version was commonly used by the elementary school students I used to teach, hence why I chose it over the more common "keidoro".

\- The unofficial theme song of the work is "Cops and Robbers" by The Hoosiers. 

\- Some Chapters also have their own theme songs, which will be indicated in the ending notes.

\- Every Chapter Title will have the Japanese at the top and the English version of the title in the end notes. I do this to prevent certain unintentional spoiling in a few of the titles.

\- The prologue, initially a stand-alone one-shot, was originally titled "Isosceles" to refer to the twins as two equilateral sides with Kirigiri stretched between them as the hypotenuse.

\- I know that this is a long work, but I hope that you find time to re-read a second time after completing it; I think you might notice some new things.

\- This cover work was commissioned from [allocen](https://jinjojess.deviantart.com/art/C-Dangan-Ronpa-604507266) by my dear friend Miss_Prince (with some minor editing by me).

\- The Chapter start and end images were drawn by myself.

\- Since this series originally began in 2013, the character of Kawauchi completely pre-dated DR3 and Kizakura. I like to think that my deep need for a character with this kind of uncle-esque relationship to Kirigiri psychically influenced Kodaka.

I think that's about it.

Please enjoy!


	2. Prologue: Isosceles

Kirigiri was drunk. She mouthed the words “I’m drunk”, unable to hear them over the pounding music in the small club. Multi-colored lights flashed, slicing through curling cigarette smoke. The stink would settle into her jacket, Kirigiri realized. She frowned and finished her whiskey coke.

Why was she here? Her initial reaction when opening the invitation had been surprise. Never would she have assumed correspondence from her alma mater would come in such a shabby envelope. The homemade invitations had been so transparently crafted by Naegi’s well-meaning but unskilled hands that she hadn’t bothered reading the contents until a week later, when she rediscovered the card under a stack of newspapers.

 _First (Hopefully) Annual Kibougamine 78_ _th_ _Class Reunion!_  The thought of seeing her classmates again had sent a chill through Kirigiri. It was nothing against them personally, but she preferred to stay out of the limelight, and so many of them were firmly planted in the public eye. Her aversion to attention had resulted in losing touch with everyone but Naegi and Celes; the former had graduated from college and become a regular salaryman, while the latter took great joy in disguising herself for the day and meeting Kirigiri for coffee.

She had felt bad about dodging Naegi’s phone calls, but she knew he would want her to RSVP, and she couldn’t stand disappointing him. Even over the phone, she would have been able to picture his soulful eyes pleading with her. Instead, she had responded to his voicemails with curt text messages explaining that she was especially busy.

Celes had been harder to ignore. During her lunch break one day, she had stepped out of her grandfather’s office to find a woman paying rather enthusiastic tribute to Audrey Hepburn blocking her path.

“Kirigiri-san,” Celes had said, peering over the top of her oversized sunglasses, “would you do me the honor of joining me for tea?”

It had taken some impressive willpower to not roll her eyes. “I suppose so.”

“I’m afraid I called you out here with ulterior motives,” Celes had said once they’d been seated at a cafe in Ichigaya. Their table had been chosen for its view of the river.

“You don’t say,” Kirigiri had said.

In response, Celes had pulled something out of the pocket of her trench coat and lain it on the table.

“Oh no.”

Somehow the silly drawings on the card had taken on a threatening edge.

“Listen, I’ll be honest with you,” Kirigiri had said, pushing the invitation across the table toward Celes, “I have no intention of attending.”

“But why not?” Celes had asked. “I hadn’t realized how antisocial you’d become, Kirigiri-san. We’re rather concerned about you.”

“Who exactly is ‘we’?”

“In this instance I’m referring to Naegi-kun, Yamada, and myself, but I’m sure the rest of our former classmates are just as anxious to see you.”

“Perhaps they are, but I still don’t plan to go.”

“What if I told you,” Celes had said, leaning forward and resting her chin on her tented fingers, “that a certain  _someone_  was going to be there?”

“It would depend heavily on who that  _someone_ was.”

“What if I said it wasn’t  _someone_  but _someones?_ ”

Kirigiri had inhaled sharply. Celes’s smile had widened, angering her further. “Someones” wasn’t even a word. How dare she prey on her emotions like that? It was manipulative and a tad cruel. Besides…

“They won’t come.”

“Really? Naegi told me they RSVPed.”

“Both of them?”

“It seems that way, yes.”

“They always RSVP, but they never show up.”

Celes had leaned back to pour herself a cup of tea. She sipped it thoughtfully.

“Perhaps they’ll come if they find out you’ll be there,” she had said, her eyes scanning the surface of the river.

Time for another whiskey coke. Kirigiri pushed her way through the sweaty, writhing bodies toward the bar. If she could ever locate Naegi in this mess, she’d make him think again before scheduling an event in a miniscule Shinjuku dance club without reserving the whole space. Honestly, what had he been thinking?

She hadn’t seen Celes since her initial arrival, either. Unsurprisingly, the other woman’s deception had turned out to be just that—the  _someones_  Kirigiri had been hoping to run into were not present. A small part of her could forgive Celes, as the  _someones_  in question were quite skilled in disappointing everyone around them. Kirigiri was sure that half the reason they bothered to RSVP at all was to make everyone think they were coming so that it would be more devastating when they didn’t.

Then again, Celes hardly had a good track record when it came to truthful statements, and it was just as possible that the story had been fabricated as a way to entice her into going. Kirigiri normally tried not to entertain paranoid musing, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that somewhere in the smoky club Naegi and Celes were sharing a high-five and a laugh at her expense.

She was not unintelligent. How did she keep falling for the same ruses over and over?

After ordering her drink, she relocated to a less crowded part of the bar. It was in a corner, the furthest away one could get from the stage. Kirigiri watched people happier than her dance; Kuwata had tried to swing himself around the stripper pole and had just fallen face first to the ground.

She shouldn’t have come. She should have told Celes that her decision had been made. She should have lied and said she was busy with work or a family obligation. Celes would’ve seen through it of course, but probably would not have pushed the matter. As it was, she was sitting at a bar alone, slowly growing drunker and more emotional, abandoned by her two remaining friends and watching people she hadn’t spoken to since her first year of university enjoy themselves without her.

_Don’t cry, Kyouko. Don’t do it. Don’t bring down the mood. If you lose it, everyone will worry and you’ll ruin their good time._

A hand pressed against the small of her back.

“I was right, Celes-san,” Kirigiri said, now thankful for the booming music hiding the vulnerability in her voice. “After this drink, I’m leaving.”

“What? Don’t go yet, I just got here.”

Kirigiri jumped as she tipped her plastic cup; she gulped down more alcohol than was advisable, along with a couple of ice cubes. Immediately, she began coughing.

“Shit. You okay?” The hand patted her roughly where her shoulder blades met.

“I-I…” Panicked, Kirigiri tried to reclaim her breath. That wasn’t Celes’s voice. And it sure as hell wasn’t Naegi’s.

Out of her peripheral vision, she saw a figure taller than Naegi, taller than Celes, taller than her, though only by a few centimeters. Even with the spastic lighting, she could make out the tight outfit and the distinctive, mostly monochromatic, color scheme.

“I’ve gotta say, Kirigiri, you sure know how to make someone’s entrance feel dramatic.”

The detective swallowed as much air as she could and straightened. Fortunately, the alcohol had afforded her just enough courage to face the person directly.

“Enoshima Junko,” she said. She felt a twinge of pride at how cold and businesslike her voice sounded. “You’re late.”

Junko grinned at her and sat down on a bar stool. She flashed a peace sign.

“Fashionably so.”

“Are you here alone?”

The smile dropped off her face as if weighted. “What kind of question is that?” She waved her left arm in the empty space beside her. “Does it look like I’m not?”

“You and I both know that has very little to do with my question.”

“She doesn’t like this kind of stuff,” Junko said with a dismissive shrug.

That still wasn’t a satisfying answer, but Kirigiri felt too giddy to care. Part of her wondered if this was really happening. Maybe she was drunker than she thought. Was it really possible that after years of quietly nurtured infatuation, there would be a payoff?

She had to be careful. Considering who she was dealing with, she couldn’t afford to miscalculate.

Junko scanned the drink menu, a bright red nail sliding down the plastic. Kirigiri readjusted herself on the stool and forced her eyes to focus no lower than her companion’s chin.

“Ah, they don’t have the tomato cocktail I wanted,” the model said. “Too bad.” She waved over the bartender and asked for the house special.

“He’s gay,” Kirigiri said.

“Who?”

“The bartender.”

“Well, yes. We’re in Ni-Chome.” Junko’s eyebrows arched and she offered Kirigiri a genuinely amused smile.

“You were flirting with him.” Kirigiri wondered why she felt so angry. Her own voice sounded far away, disconnected from her.

“Was I?”

“It was obvious.”

“Maybe you’re just that great a detective,” Junko said. She placed a boot on the floor and scooted the stool closer to Kirigiri’s.

Her instincts said to back away, but her fuzzy consciousness told her to stay put. Fortune favors the…well, it favored Naegi. Prior to this moment, Kirigiri had never coveted anyone else’s school-assigned talent over her own.

Meanwhile, Junko was leaning on the bar, close enough that Kirigiri could see the red accents woven into her black dress. “I’m no sleuth,” she said, “but I’m hardly KY. You sound a little jealous.”

The detective’s awareness felt as though it had liquified and was sloshing around inside her skull. Just how many drinks had she had in the last few hours? She attempted to count them, but immediately gave up. Perhaps tomorrow morning she could focus on how terrible she felt physically instead of mourning how badly she’d fucked up and how there wouldn’t be a second chance.

_Third chance._

“I’m not,” Kirigiri said, then before she could stop herself, added, “I’m  _very_ jealous.”

So much for being careful.

Junko laughed sharply, then tapered off with a string of chuckles. Kirigiri had forgotten how simultaneously obnoxious and endearing she found the unique syllables.

“What a relief,” Junko said, taking her glass from the bartender. “I thought we were going to have to take the tsundere route.”

The model stood up, beer in hand, and wrapped her fingers around Kirigiri’s wrist. Though all she could feel was the interior of the gloves pressing against her skin, a furious blush crept up her neck and over her cheeks at the contact.

Junko led her outside. The air was fresher and colder here, compared to the stuffy humidity of the club. The model leaned back against the coin lockers next to the stairs that led down to the street.

“Thanks for making that easy. It would’ve been a real pain if anyone had spotted me.”

“Enoshima-san, I don’t understand.” Kirigiri felt dizzy; this wasn’t right. This wasn’t how she had pictured things going at all. At the moment she was finding it difficult to conjure up the particular fantasy she’d had about meeting the twins again, but this wasn’t it.

Junko placed the beer carefully on the ground and walked directly in front of the detective.

“Kirigiri,” she said, touching her cheek. “Shut the fuck up.” Junko grabbed the front of Kirigiri’s jacket and swung her around, slamming her up against the lockers. She kissed her fiercely, driving her teeth into the detective’s lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

“E-Enoshi-” Kirigiri gasped in between kisses. Junko’s body was pinning her to the lockers, one hand still clutching the collar of her jacket, the other digging its nails into the flesh of her side. Kirigiri reached up and tangled her fingers in the model’s hair.

“It’s a shame,” Junko said, pulling away for breath. “If we’d come all the way out here and didn’t find you, that would’ve been some great despair.”

“We?”

“Long time, no see, Kirigiri.”

The detective turned her head in the direction of the voice; Mukuro stood in the corner, one hand in her coat pocket and the other lifting the beer to her lips.

“How is it?” Junko asked her sister.

“Minty. I like it.”

“You’d better. Being in that boring, lame place was just about killing me. My reputation is now in serious jeopardy, you know.”

“I appreciate it, Junko-chan.”

“I knew it,” Kirigiri said. “You had to be around somewhere.”

“What do you want, a medal?” Junko smashed Kirigiri against the lockers, the back of her head denting the metal doors.

She saw Mukuro’s lips move, but couldn’t hear what she said over the ringing in her ears. Junko let go of her and she sank to the ground; the older twin scooped her up off the bricks, tossing her over her shoulder like a captive from a rival tribe.

Kirigiri was aware that they were descending the stairs and heading out into the street. Did she have her bag? Had either of the twins thought to pick it up from where she’d dropped it during the kiss?

“Quit squirming,” Mukuro said. She tightened her grip on Kirigiri’s legs.

The detective passed out thinking how nice the soldier’s palm felt on the back of her thigh.

Kirigiri blinked, finding herself seated on a plush leather couch. It was dark; the sole light source was a candle burning on the table in front of her. Empty wine glasses and tumblers reflected the flickering glow. She could hear live jazz playing somewhere nearby, and could smell perfume mixing with stale tobacco smoke.

Light cleaved the foggy darkness. Someone had lifted a black curtain a meter or two away.

“Is she awake?”

“Yeah, as of just now.”

Junko crossed the private room and sat down next to Kirigiri on the sofa. Mukuro, whom she just realized had been sitting to her left the entire time, lit a cigarette.

“Where are we?”

The soldier casually lifted the curtain behind them, revealing a night view of Tokyo. They had to be at least thirty floors up. Kirigiri noted a large body of water and an illuminated bridge.

“We’re in Shinagawa?!”

“Pin pon!” Junko said.

“You carried me all the way here?”

“Nee-chan doesn’t mind.”

Mukuro confirmed this with a silent nod.

“By foot, though?”

“Don’t be stupid—we took a cab.” Junko, as expected, anticipated Kirigiri’s response and cut her off. “We told the driver you’d had too much to drink.”

That wasn’t a lie, Kirigiri thought. Still, she was unnerved at how easily she’d been kidnapped. Celes and Naegi probably assumed she’d given up and retreated back to her apartment. The thought brought a small thrill along with wary apprehension.

“You shouldn’t feel bad,” Mukuro said. “We’re well-seasoned at this kind of thing.”

“So you abduct a lot of young women from bars?”

Junko bared her teeth in a gruesome approximation of a smile. “They usually don’t end up at nicer places. No need to worry, Kirigiri; you’re still special.”

The detective tried not to think about all of the missing persons cases stacked on her grandfather’s desk.

Junko wound an arm around her elbow as Mukuro rested a hand on her knee.

“Should we resume then? Pick up where we left off?” The model’s breath tickled her ear.

They’d “left off” about seven years ago, the night before their graduation ceremony. It had been another party—a farewell celebration—held in Hagakure’s room. Kirigiri hadn’t been as accustomed to liquor then, and two cans of the chuuhai Hagakure had provided were enough to settle her into a pleasant, inhibition-less buzz.

She had spotted Junko chatting with Maizono by the shower room door and had felt a flash of jealousy. What did the idol have that she didn’t? That blue-haired bimbo didn’t recognize how clever Junko was, how she could bend people to her will with barely any effort. They were probably talking about makeup or something equally inane.

Kirigiri had spent most of her senior year investigating the twins. (Celes had insisted that what she was really doing was stalking, and Kirigiri had told her to remain in her sphere of expertise; if she needed help lying or cheating, she’d be sure to consult her.) The first year of high school she hadn’t given them much thought outside of the fact that Enoshima had an enviable physique and Ikusaba was not someone she wanted to run into in the halls after lights out. The second year she’d been assigned to work on a project with Mukuro and had discovered that they had quite a bit in common—an appreciation for hard work, a disdain for needless chatter, a keen eye for detail.

She had found herself wanting to know more about her enigmatic classmate, and sought to spend more time with her. However, getting close to Mukuro necessitated fraternizing with Junko. Initially, Kirigiri had dreaded what she was sure would be vapid conversations, only to be pleasantly surprised when it turned out the trendy sister was intelligent. Very, very intelligent. Kirigiri had never met anyone as clever as Junko—she had never before felt intellectually insecure in anyone’s presence.

Gradually her infatuation had developed with every interaction. By senior year she had realized that Junko and Mukuro had been orchestrating the pranks and petty crimes that had been plaguing her father and the rest of the administration for the past several semesters. She had progressed to the addiction stage, rearranging her class schedule and canceling plans with friends in order to observe the twins’ movements. On the few occasions she’d be able to thwart their plans, Kirigiri had felt a kind of validation similar to when her grandfather praised her.

She was the one Junko should be talking to.

Though she’d forgotten the details over the years out of shame, Kirigiri had somehow become involved in an intense argument with Junko about morality. They had screamed at each other, swiping bowls of snacks off the table and kicking chairs to help illustrate their respective sides. At some point, someone had called Mukuro, who had shown up to the party just long enough to haul her sister away. Kirigiri, still enraged from drinking and frustrated arousal, had followed them down the hallway to Ikusaba’s room still loudly slurring her opinion.

Mukuro had given her an icy glare and been about to shut the door in her face when Junko had wrapped her arms around her sister’s neck and told her to let Kirigiri in.

“Sit down,” the soldier had said, and pointed to the bed. The cold authority in her voice had sobered Kirigiri up enough to make her quiet down and she had sat on the edge of the mattress.

“Nee-chan, Nee-chan,” Junko had whined. Her hands had gripped her twin’s face and pulled it close to her own. “I  _want_ her.”

“Excuse us a moment.” Mukuro had carried Junko into the shower room and shut the door, leaving Kirigiri waiting awkwardly on the bed.

She had been able to hear their voices but couldn’t decipher the words. Whatever they were debating seemed to push them through a wide range of emotions.

 _Am I about to have sex?_ Kirigiri had suddenly wondered. Self-consciously, she’d checked to see what panties she’d worn that day. Acceptable, but not ideal.

When the twins had returned, they were holding hands and wearing identical somber expressions.

“We have a proposition for you,” Junko had said.

“You don’t need to answer immediately,” Mukuro had added.

Kirigiri hadn’t answered immediately. In fact, she had never answered. When the offer had been laid out, she had said she needed to sleep on it and returned to her own room. From the following day on, she had avoided the twins, haunted by what they’d asked of her and why. Why had they chosen her? Was it because they’d known about her fascination with them? Was it because she possessed a worldview so different from theirs? Was it…perhaps…because they considered her an equal?

These questions had acted as an IV, feeding her obsession and tethering her to that moment in time, to those two outstretched hands, to that decision. She hated what-if scenarios and ambiguity. Kirigiri wanted to  _know,_  and she couldn’t leave this unresolved.

Yet she had gone so many years without speaking to the twins that to approach them now was daunting. Junko was defended by an impenetrable circle of photographers and fans, and Mukuro could only be located if she chose to be.

Junko nuzzled Kirigiri’s cheek. “Have you given it any thought?”

_It’s all I’ve thought about for the past several years._

“A bit,” she said.

“Have you reached a decision?” Mukuro asked.

“I’d like to confirm everything one last time if that’s all right.”

“Sure.” Junko pressed closer to Kirigiri, stroking her chin with her thumb. “It’s simple: we need a rival. Someone to work against us. Things are too easy and boring now; those idiot police have yet to solve a single case we’ve been involved in.”

A slight smile graced Mukuro’s lips as she took a drag on her cigarette. She stared off into the darkness, as if contemplating a fond memory.

“Basically,” Junko said, “we need someone on our own level.”

Kirigiri cursed her pale complexion—it was impossible to hide her blush, even in the weak lighting. She had forgotten just how deft Junko was with flattery.

“Here’s the rules,” Mukuro said. She put out her cigarette in the ashtray. “We’ll give you a sign when we’ve committed a crime. You investigate. If you find sufficient proof we were the culprits, you win.”

“And you get to claim your reward,” Junko said, lightly kissing and biting at her neck.

“What if I can’t prove it? Who decides if the evidence is adequate?”

“You’ll get a time limit specific to each case, depending on how difficult we deem it to be.” Mukuro toyed with her lighter. “If you cannot produce enough evidence within the allotted time to convince a hypothetical jury of our guilt, we win.”

“And the reward is ours.” Junko drove her nails into Kirigiri’s thigh.

“If I have proof linking you both to the crimes, what’s stopping me from turning you over to the state?”

“Nothing!” The model giggled into Kirigiri’s throat, each individual  _pu_ striking her jugular. “That’s why it’s so exciting!”

“We can’t ask this of just anybody,” the soldier said. “There’s very restrictive criteria. Some of the requirements are harder to satisfy than others.”

“How many people besides me have you approached?”

Mukuro’s eyes met Kirigiri’s.

“None.”

It was tempting. Kirigiri couldn’t deny that. She’d grown tired of tailing unfaithful spouses and hunting down missing pets, but as the newest addition to the family office, she was rarely allowed to work bigger cases. Her superior skills meant nothing to her grandfather and his dedication to hierarchy.

Perhaps even more pressing was the loneliness. Post-university life hadn’t allowed Kirigiri much time to invest in dating; even as a student she’d only maintained a handful of short relationships. The few disastrous dates with men she'd attempted aside, none of the women she’d gone out with then had ever stimulated her the way the twins had. There hadn’t been any challenge or intrigue.

Yet the thought of solving a crime only to let the perpetrators go free caused her physical pain. What of the victims of these crimes? When the offer had originally been pitched to her, Junko and Mukuro had only dabbled in mischief and misdemeanors. The efficiency with which they’d transported her from the club to the lounge she was currently sitting in suggested that they’d graduated to much worse.

How could she face her grandfather—how could she retain the right to her family name—if she accepted?

Mukuro had moved her hand further up her leg, languidly rubbing her fingers against the skin just underneath the hem of her skirt. Junko was still gripping her inner thigh, her other hand splayed against Kirigiri’s scalp and her teeth sinking into her shoulder.

“Out of curiosity, what will happen to me if I refuse?”

“We’ll take you to a nice hotel nearby and make the final night of your life unforgettable,” Junko said.

“The same goes for trying to dodge the question,” Mukuro said.

“Well, I believe that settles it then.” Kirigiri drew a deep breath; the twins’ grip constricted. “I accept.”

Junko laughed harshly and kissed her on the mouth. Mukuro put out her current cigarette and snaked her arm around Kirigiri’s waist.

 _I had no choice,_  the detective told herself as the twins undressed her.  _They threatened my life._

Besides, she could turn them in at any time. She was still in control.


	3. Part I: 汚い響子

Kirigiri rationed her ibuprofin, lining the green, translucent capsules on the tray next to her futon. Though she’d have loved to take credit for having the foresight and planning to counter hangovers this effectively, the truth was that she’d woken up with a tray holding a bottle of pills and two liters of spring water on the floor beside her. She didn’t remember returning home the night before; what she recalled of the last ten-plus hours could be summed up by the burning soreness in her thighs. Her adrenaline had burned off, leaving behind a desiccated husk. She was the charred corpse of a convicted witch in Medieval Europe. She was a beached whale skeleton, baking in the sunlight.

A single thought managed to push through the cotton stuffing her head and mouth.

“What the hell did I get myself into?”

She had agreed to play the twins’ rival, which according to the clearer, less drunk segments of her memory, entailed gathering enough evidence to link them to a crime they’d committed. If she could convince them that she’d won, she’d get to claim a reward in a similar vein to the festivities of the previous night, but if she failed, she was at their mercy.

In the smoky gloom of the bar, the situation had seemed threatening and irresistible, as if she were the pious heroine of a tragic play—a female Faust, staring Mephistopheles in the face. Now, under the chilly sunlight that seeped through her bedroom curtains, it sounded more like the premise for a low-budget TV drama aimed at middle-aged salarymen who secretly wished they’d become cops. That was one of Enoshima’s many talents, Kirigiri supposed, drawing anyone in her vicinity into her exaggerated fever dream version of reality.

_They threatened your life._

Enoshima Junko was, among other things, theatrical. Kirigiri could remember at least three occasions in high school when Enoshima had casually tossed out veiled death threats, and to her knowledge, none of them had ever been followed through. To Enoshima, vague allusions to murder were simply part of the mood she wanted to create—an extra pinch of spice to add cohesion and flavor to the recipe. It was likely that she got carried away in the moment.

_Ikusaba wouldn’t get carried away, though._

While it was true that Ikusaba was more literal and less likely to be swept away by her muse, she also had a history of falling in line with her sister. If Enoshima had given her a script to stick to, there was little chance Ikusaba would deviate from it.

_Still-_

It was fine. The whole thing was just a one night stand. A chance meeting between people who’d been carrying unresolved sexual tension since high school, who chose to act on their chemistry as some kind of liquor-fueled tribute to nostalgia. Thanks to the bombastic personality of one of the participants, it had taken a dramatic turn.

That’s all it was. A one night stand. They met, they fucked, they parted. Kirigiri doubted she’d hear from the twins again. She wasn’t upset about it. It wasn’t like there was a point to being upset anyway, since they would do whatever they wanted regardless of how she felt.

It was fine. She was fine.

*

“My, my, Kirigiri-san. Had I realized just how much fun you’d have at the reunion, I’d have arranged this little rendezvous to be later in the day.”

“Sorry to say, but Celes-san kind of has a point. You look pretty rough.” Naegi scratched his head. His hair had grown in enough now to remind Kirigiri of his shaggy high school style. He’d need to trim it soon.

“Good afternoon to both of you, too.” Kirigiri eased herself into the metal chair, grasping the table for balance. The cafe her friends had chosen was on the Odaiba side of Tokyo Bay; they’d left her the seat facing the water. While the view of the bridge was nice, the reflected sunlight shone directly into her bloodshot eyes. Following minutes of debate, she had opted to leave her sunglasses tucked away in her sock drawer. Today was clearly a day of regrettable decisions.

“In all seriousness, though, we were pretty worried when you skipped out.”

“I assumed that you grew tired of waiting for two individuals, who shall not be named, and left the bar, but when I stopped by your apartment later to check on you, no one was home.”

“You went to my apartment?”

“Of course.” Celes lifted the teacup to her lips and took a sip. “I also wished to apologize.”

“There really isn’t any need.”

“Exactly,” Naegi said. “They’re the ones who told me they were going to come to the reunion and then didn’t show up.”  

“True. What time did you get home last night?”

“Honestly, I don’t remember.”

Celes arched an eyebrow while Naegi placed his coffee cup down on the table.

“Were you really that drunk?”

“It was partially intoxication and partially exhaustion,” Kirigiri said.

“Oh, I’m sure it was,” Celes said.

Two hours ago, after she had finally crawled from her futon, Kirigiri had stood staring at the scratches, bruises, and bite marks covering her neck and shoulders in the bathroom mirror. She shifted in her seat and tugged her tie.

“Even so, try to be careful from now on, okay? If you want to go somewhere else, just tell one of us and we’ll go with you.”

“Naegi-kun, I-”

“It’s not that I don’t think you can handle yourself, Kirigiri-san! It’s just that, well, you know…when people are drunk they can sometimes be, ah, vulnerable.”

“Well,” Celes said, calling the waiter to their table so Kirigiri could order, “if nothing else, I’m certainly happy to see that you managed to get laid.”

Naegi coughed, dribbling coffee down his chin. Kirigiri closed her eyes and leaned on one hand, rubbing her temple.

“Celes-san!”

“You don’t have to tell us who, if you prefer not to disclose such information. I just want you to know that, as your friend, I’m happy for you. Lord knows you needed it.”

“Celes-san, please, the waiter is here.”

“If you will permit me one question, though, I would like to know something.”

Kirigiri opened her eyes and stared steadily at Celes.

“Was it a one time performance, or will there be an encore?”

“Okay, so. I think that was a very nice meet up we just had.” Naegi planted his palms on the table and stood up. “I’ve got some work to get done for tomorrow so I’ve got to run. I’ll see you both later.” He placed a handful of coins next to his empty mug and walked briskly toward the deck stairs.

“Actually,” Kirigiri said, “I have to be going as well.”

“You just got here.”

“Sorry. I mostly came to let you two know that I’m still alive.”

Kirigiri stood, adjusting the collar of her coat. Celes’s eyes didn’t leave her neck, but her mouth curved into a constricted smile.

“Make sure it stays that way,” she said, turning to the waiter to request more tea.

*

The squeal of the subway pierced Kirigiri’s eardrums, causing her to hiss and press her fingers to either side of her head. She didn’t usually make a habit of binge drinking, largely because her body had never reacted well to extreme dehydration. Shaking, she unscrewed the cap to the bottle of Pocari Sweat she’d purchased from a vending machine when she transferred lines, only for the train to unexpectedly jolt and slosh sports drink all over her glove. Kirigiri did a quick scan of the car: two elementary school aged boys playing a video game; one thirty-something man leaning against the door with his eyes closed and earbuds planted in his ears; three elderly ladies sitting at the far end of the car in the priority seats, chattering about something on one of their smartphones.

Quietly, Kirigiri began to lick the drink off of her glove. It was tepid and tinged with sweetness, but felt  as refreshing as the water her family had used to draw from the well when they vacationed in the mountains. Without warning, the image of Enoshima pulling Kirigiri’s gloves off with her teeth and licking her scarred fingers flashed through her mind. Kirigiri jerked her head away as if she’d been hit with an electric shock.

Thankfully, the sky had clouded over by the time she stumbled out of the subway. Kirigiri slipped her train pass back into her jacket pocket and walked toward her apartment. She stepped inside, kicked off her boots, and locked the door behind her. Her Pocari Sweat had depleted several stops ago and her mouth was beginning to feel fuzzy again. She headed into the kitchen for a glass of water and noticed something propped up on the table.

It was a plain white postcard, three kanji written in red calligraphy across the front: 挑戦状.

A challenge card.

Despite the chilly weather, Kirigiri felt sweat begin to form.

“That was quick,” she said aloud, though her voice sounded off-key.

She picked the post card up and flipped it over. On the back, someone had pasted a newspaper article about a college student who had just been reported missing earlier that day. In the corner there was a red seal depicting a sword and shield bearing the heads of a wolf and a bear. Just above the stamp, someone had written  _one week_ in red pen.

One week.

That was plenty of time. If the girl had just gone missing within the last twenty-four hours, Kirigiri stood a good chance of finding her quickly.  For someone of her pedigree, a one week time limit was an insult.

_What if it takes more than a week?_

It won’t.

_But if it does?_

Then there will be consequences to face.

_And what about the girl?_

The twins only specified that I would be punished.

_They threatened your life. What do you think will happen to that girl if you don’t find her within a week?_

All the more reason to begin the investigation immediately.

Her headache hadn’t subsided, but her thirst was forgotten. Kirigiri felt as though she’d been doused in ice water. Time to focus.

*

According to the article, the student in question—Hakiri Bara—was a second-year at Waseda University, studying political science. She had been quite socially active, participating in several demonstrations for various causes in the months leading up to her disappearance, and according to her friends interviewed for the article, she was especially passionate about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

An outspoken person like Hakiri would naturally have quite a few enemies, which would throw a normal investigator off the trail of anyone who wasn’t obviously involved with her. Kirigiri wondered if the twins had a connection to this girl, or if they selected their playthings randomly. On one hand, the latter was a very good way to avoid suspicion. On the other, nothing was truly random when it came to Enoshima.

Following work on Monday, Kirigiri headed to Waseda’s campus. Though she’d come prepared with an excuse, the dorm proved criminally easy to slip into and she soon found herself in Hakiri’s room. The place was a mess, clothing and paper strewn everywhere, but no signs of a struggle. A photo of the girl and what Kirigiri assumed to be friends sat on the desk, indicating the clutter was not a new development.

She spent over an hour poking through the girl’s belongings, but nothing appeared to be any kind of lead. Kirigiri finishing digging through a pile of what she hoped to be clean socks and underwear and moved to pull out the drawer built into the bed frame. Instead of more clothes, it was crammed full of books, all apparently written by the same author.

“Um, hello?”

Kirigiri jumped, turning to look in the doorway, where a tall girl was standing.

“Good evening.”

“Are you a friend of Bara-chan?”

“No,” Kirigiri said, watching the girl’s uncomfortable smile twist into a frown. “I’m a detective.”

“Oh!” the girl said, tension draining from her face. “You’re looking into her disappearance.”

“Yes. Are you a friend of hers?”

“I am. The name’s Setsuko. I’ve known Bara-chan since high school.”

“Excellent. Would you mind answering a few questions?”

“Sure. I’m really worried about her. I mean, it’s not like she never goes and does her own thing, but this is the first time she hasn’t answered any of my texts or emails. I even tried calling her and her phone was off, and it’s never off. She keeps two extra batteries in her purse.”

“When exactly did she go missing?”

“No one really knows. I think I’m the last one to talk to her, and that was around five p.m. on Saturday.”

At five p.m. the previous Saturday, Kirigiri had been trying to decide which pair of gloves best matched the dress she was going to wear to the reunion.

“What did she say?”

“She just said she was going to hit the library for a bit before coming back to the dorm. Bara-chan went there a lot, so I didn’t think it was weird when she wasn’t back before I went to bed.”

“May I see the message?”

Setsuko nodded and stepped into the room, handing her phone to Kirigiri. The model was at least two generations newer than her own. The touch screen reacted almost flawlessly to her gloved fingertips.

“Do you know if Hakiri-san had any enemies?” Kirigiri asked, handing the phone back.

“No more than anyone else. I know some people thought she was stuck up for not going out much, but that’s their problem.” Setsuko tucked some hair behind her ear. “It’s not like Bara-chan was snubbing anybody. She just had to save.”

“Save?”

“Yeah. She wanted to buy a ticket to Jerusalem.”

“I assume that had to do with her activist work?”

“Yep. Bara-chan had this idea of shooting candid footage of both sides and using it to make a movie that showed everyone that they’re all human.” Setsuko laughed. “It’s pretty naïve, if you ask me, but that’s kind of her charm.”

If the missing girl was really so idealistic that she thought a home movie would put the Israeli-Palestinian conflict to rest, she had been very easy to kidnap. Kirigiri couldn’t judge too harshly though; Hakiri reminded her a bit of Naegi.

“What can you tell me about these books?” she asked.

Setsuko looked over Kirigiri’s shoulder.

“Oh, Sodesaki-sensei’s stuff, huh? Bara-chan’s been obsessed with her since forever ago. Back in high school she used to write her letters and stuff, but I don’t think she ever got a reply. Sodesaki-sensei’s pretty reclusive from what I hear.”

“Does she live in Tokyo? The writer.”

“Yeah, I think so. Why does that matter?”

It meant Kirigiri wouldn’t have to travel far to interview her.

“Thank you for your time, Setsuko-san. If I have any further questions, I will be in contact.”

*

Kirigiri had actually read a few of Sodesaki Akie’s novels, at Naegi’s urging. She had only managed to get through two of them before quitting, not because of the writing, but because she lacked the patience for the fantasy genre. Sodesaki had published her first novel at twenty-two, and now at thirty-three had followed it up with a new book every six months. Despite having never left Japan, her expertise was blending Western fantasy with Japanese aesthetics. Few fantasy writers were known to be as prolific and consistent in quality as Sodesaki, whose more recent publications had ballooned to over a thousand pages.

Unfortunately for her three official fan clubs, the writer herself was a notorious recluse, only communicating with her editor, publisher, and a few colleagues whom she considered to be on her own level. Kirigiri attempted to contact the editor and publisher during her lunch break on Tuesday, only to be fed into an endless loop of prerecorded messages and smooth jazz hold music.

Kirigiri did finally hear a human voice, but not until after she’d hung up the phone.

“Hey, kiddo, what’s wrong?”

Not long after her father had abandoned the family business, Kirigiri’s grandfather had hired a young man named Kawauchi, who had been a childhood friend to her mother. Despite his breezy demeanor, he was a competent detective and had managed to impress her grandfather by being registered as a rank three in the Detective Library.

As a child, Kirigiri had thought of Kawauchi as a kind, affable uncle. He’d taken her to the beach and the zoo. He’d bought her ice cream and birthday gifts. When she and her grandfather had returned from abroad, Kawauchi had always been the first to greet them at the airport. He had been the first person to know about Kirigiri’s interest in other women, and he had been the one who had picked her up after her heart had been broken for the first time. After the accident, he had visited her in the hospital every day until she was released. He had shown her the website where she could order custom gloves.

As deeply as she appreciated him, as she’d gotten older, Kawauchi’s position in her family began to bother her. While he was undoubtedly a skilled detective and a good person, it troubled her how he had completely supplanted her father. Not that she wanted her actual father back, of course. Three years of putting up with him during high school was two-and-a-half too many. Instead, she worried that somewhere in the world there was a young female Kawauchi, a version of her molded perfectly to her grandfather’s tastes.

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about me.”

It grew harder for her to confide in Kawauchi the older she became.

“Oh, come on now. I know you hate being stuck behind a desk here, but just be patient. The old man will let you out in the field soon enough.”

“I appreciate your faith in my career trajectory, but really, nothing is wrong.”

“If you say so.” Kawauchi shrugged. “I mean, I won’t tell the old man you’re doing some pro-bono work on the side if you won’t.”

“Have I really gotten that sloppy?”

Kawauchi chuckled. “It’s less sloppiness on your part and more that I know you so well. I remember how you used to get whenever your grandpa would let you help out with his cases, and it’s the same pensive look you’ve got now.”

“Not sure how I feel about the fact you’ve been observing me so closely.”

“Oh stop, Kyouko-chan. You know you’re like a niece to me.” Kawauchi drummed his fingers on her desk. When Kirigiri had been in elementary school, they had played a game where Kawauchi’s hand would be the spider monster that Kirigiri had to smash. “Like I said, I won’t ruin your fun. You’re an adult now and I think doing some extra fieldwork might be good for you.”

Kirigiri glanced behind her at the door to her grandfather’s office. “You don’t think he knows, do you?”

“Nope. Old man’s too busy with all the unsolved missing persons cases, and that terrorist group he was looking into in Egypt. Anyway, the real reason I’m here is because I need to borrow your scissors. Can’t for the life of me find my pair.”

Kirigiri gestured toward the cup of office supplies in the corner of her desk. The overhead fluorescent light glinted off the scissor blades as Kawauchi pulled them out.

“Oji-san,” she said, “thank you.”

“Isn’t that my line?” he asked, but Kirigiri had already pulled on her coat and was headed toward the door.

*

“I need a favor,” she said into the phone.

“W-What kind of favor?”

“I need to speak with Sodesaki Akie, and soon. As I’m sure you’re aware, she’s a rather difficult person to get ahold of.”

“Ugh, maybe for you. Why do you need to talk to her?”

“I can’t tell you. It’s work-related.”

“If you say so. I don’t see what this has to do with me.”

“From what I understand, Sodesaki-sensei only keeps in contact with a small circle of people, including a few authors she considers to be on her level.”

“And?”

“Forgive me for assuming you’d fall into that category.”

“On her level? On _her_ level?! Are you joking?” Cackling erupted from the other end of the line. “That hack would love to stand shoulder to shoulder with me.”

“So what you’re telling me is that you cannot get in contact with her.”

“Of course I can contact her. I just don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Because that woman is a leech, Kirigiri. Do you know how many times she’s tried to latch onto me? ‘Oh Senpai, Senpai! Isn’t it hard to be such a popular and beloved author?’ Hah! She writes genre crap that appeals to the brain-dead, teenage masses.”

“I seem to remember your breakout bestseller being quite popular with young women.”

“How dare you sully my work with that comparison! And while you’re trying to convince me to help you, no less!”

“I apologize. I’m afraid I’m a bit behind when it comes to the climate of the literary world.”

“You can say that again. Anyway, count me out of this little adventure.”

“Please-”

“No. If I even so much as think about contacting her, she’ll take it as an invitation to be best friends forever. I refuse to deal with that.”

“What if I promised you that after setting up this meeting for me, you’ll never have to hear from her again?”

“How exactly do you plan to arrange that?”

“I have methods. Just trust me.”

“You really aren’t selling me on this, I have to say.”

“Please. As I said, it’s work-related. The situation is very delicate and possibly dangerous. I swear to you that if you help me contact Sodesaki-sensei now, you will not be bothered by her again.” Kirigiri shifted the phone to her other ear. “Have I ever been anything less than reliable?”

After several moments of silence, during which Kirigiri worried the call had ended, she heard a sigh.

“Fine.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll give her a call about meeting with you.”

“Could you arrange it to be tomorrow evening?”

“I guess. Just make sure you keep your end of this bargain. After today, I don’t want to hear anything about Sodesaki ever again. I don’t care what happens, leave me out of it.”

“Of course. Thank you. You are, perhaps literally, a lifesaver, Fukawa-san.”

*

“Sodesaki-sensei,” Kirigiri said, her fist pounding against the door to the house. “We have an appointment.”

Sodesaki Akie lived in Ueno, in a large traditional-style house complete with a high wall, huge wooden gate, and a sizable garden. Outwardly, it didn’t differ much from other houses in the neighborhood, except that there was no nameplate on the front gate. Kirigiri wondered if Sodesaki tended the entire property herself—it would be impressive given the meticulous landscaping. It reminded her of her maternal grandfather’s home; following the stone walkway to the door had caused a twinge of nostalgia.

While the door beside the front gate had been left open, the house itself was locked. Kirigiri had begun by knocking politely, but had soon lost her patience. It was already Wednesday evening.

_Go to your grandfather. He’ll know what to do._

No. I can do this myself.

_The girl’s life might be in danger._

Enoshima keeps her word. So does Ikusaba. The girl will be fine if I solve this case.

_What happens if you don’t?_

I will.

After what felt like several minutes of aggressive knocking, there was a click and the door slid open. Kirigiri had been expecting someone who resembled Fukawa: disheveled, homely, nearsighted, and exuding a prickly aura. The only detail she had gotten right was that Sodesaki wore glasses. The rest of her, from the pale, smooth skin to the waifish frame to the glossy black hair hanging almost to her waist, felt more appropriate for the love interest in a period film than for a cranky literary hermit.

“Sodesaki-sensei?” Kirigiri asked, mentally redressing the woman before her into a kimono as she stepped inside. The blouse, cardigan, and slacks she was wearing didn’t fit the theme. “My name is Kirigiri Kyouko. Our mutual associate Fukawa Touko contacted you yesterday, I believe.”

“Yes,” Sodesaki said, barely above a whisper.

“I apologize for intruding like this, but I don’t want to waste time. I have some questions to ask you about a Waseda student who has gone missing, one Hakiri-”

“Bara-chan!”

To Kirigiri’s surprise, Sodesaki released a pained squeal that segued into hysterical tears.

“Ah, sorry for…upsetting you.”

Sodesaki continued to cry, her delicate features scrunched into a grotesque mask. Kirigiri felt panic wash over her—she couldn’t interview someone in this state, but there wasn’t time to postpone anything.

“If this is too difficult for you, I could come back later,” Kirigiri said.

What would she do if Sodesaki accepted the offer? It would be better to try and calm her down, though Kirigiri had no idea how to do that. It was Naegi's first breakup all over again.

“No,” Sodesaki said, “I can’t let her down again. Not now.”

They moved into a large room with tatami flooring that looked into the back garden. A koi pond was ringed with mossy rocks, bonsai, and a single maple, stilling clinging to its bright red leaves. As a child, Kirigiri had named all of the fish in her grandfather’s pond.

She knelt on the provided cushion as Sodesaki exited the room and returned a minute later with two cups of tea. She sat across from Kirigiri on the opposite side of the short-legged table.

“Forgive me for not being able to offer an actual kotatsu, but the blanket is currently drying.” Sodesaki’s tears had subsided, at least for the time being. “I don’t get many visitors.”

“Please, do not worry on my account.” Kirigiri accepted the tea. “The reason I’m here is because I’m trying to find Hakiri-san. Would it be alright if I asked you some questions?”

“Of course. I’ll help in any way I can.”

“Let me begin by asking, what is your relationship to her?”

“We have something of an…interesting rapport.”

“Oh?”

“She has been a fan of my work for years, and began writing me letters about six years ago. I receive quite a bit of fanmail so I normally don’t give those kinds of missives much thought, but Bara-chan wrote to me so consistently over the years. Whenever a new book of mine came out, I’d receive a letter detailing her reaction to it within a few weeks.”

“So you exchanged letters.”

“It began that way. After about two and a half years of letters, I started responding to her. At first it was very formal expressions of gratitude, but as time went on, it grew more casual and friendly. I began pitching ideas to her for new novels, and she would give me feedback.”

No wonder Kirigiri had struggled to get invested in Sodesaki’s more recent work. What kind of respected, established author took writing advice from a high schooler?

“When she was accepted to Waseda and moved into Tokyo, our correspondence transitioned to meeting up in person. We would select a library or a cafe and meet there to talk. I believe I’ve visited the Waseda library more times in the past two years than I did during my tenure as a student there.”

“You met often?”

“On average once or twice a week. Because it would be very easy for someone to…misinterpret our relationship, we tried not to spend too much time together.”

Kirigiri tried to think of anyone she saw on a weekly basis who wasn’t also a coworker.

“When was the last time you were in contact with Hakiri-san?”

“On Saturday evening.”

“Around what time?”

“I’d say a little after five.”

“I see.” Kirigiri scribbled a memo in her notebook. “Were you in contact via phone?”

“No, I saw her in person.”

Kirigiri circled Sodesaki’s name in her notes.

“Where were you at the time? Somewhere on campus?”

Sodesaki didn’t answer. Kirigiri looked up; she was taking sips of her tea. When she finished, Sodesaki placed the cup back on the table but her eyes stayed pointed off to her left.

“Sensei?”

“We… She…was here.”

“At your home.” Kirigiri jotted down another note. “I assume she left just past five o'clock?”

“Y-Yes.”

Sodesaki’s voice had gotten hushed again, her shoulders beginning to spasm with restrained sobs.

“Did she give any indication of where she was heading?”

Sodesaki let out a wail and leaned on the table, hiding her face in her hands.

“Sensei, are you alright? Should I get you somethi-”

“It’s my fault!”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s my fault, it’s my fault. It’s because of me she’s missing.”

Kirigiri held her breath. She had dealt with emotional witnesses and suspects before, but she was in this woman’s home, and had no backup. Lifting a hand, she hesitated a moment before placing it over Sodesaki’s. Naegi had told her once that physical contact was reassuring. Kirigiri wasn’t sure if she believed that, especially since she hated uninvited touching, but there was nothing else to try.

“I highly doubt that’s the case,” she said. If anything, it was Kirigiri’s own fault.

“You don’t understand. She, she wanted to spend the night. She wanted to stay here. But I couldn’t let her do that. She knew what would happen if she did.” Sodesaki lifted her head to look at Kirigiri. Her eyes were red and swollen, mucus streaming from her nose and dripping off her lip. “I didn’t care if she wanted it. I didn’t care that she got angry. I had to save her. I had to keep her from becoming…tainted, like me.”

In an instant, Kirigiri was 13 again, back in her grandfather’s study, shivering with nerves. Kawauchi had his hand on her shoulder, telling her grandfather that Kirigiri had something important to tell him. The words tumbled from her mouth, splattering over the floor like an aural Jackson Pollack painting. In the end her grandfather hadn’t gotten upset. He’d just frowned, coughed, and commented that it was fine. There was always adoption. It wasn’t the same, but it was fine.

Anger flared through her and she pounded her free fist on the table. Sodesaki recoiled, her face reflecting fear back at Kirigiri’s own grim expression.

Taking a deep breath, Kirigiri forced her jaw to relax.

“I apologize, I allowed myself to lose control for a moment there.”

“You think I’m a monster, don’t you, detective?”

“No,” Kirigiri said, standing. “Quite the opposite, really. However I don’t want to push you too far, so I believe that this has been enough for today.”

She tossed her jacket around her shoulders. “Would you mind if I stopped by again tomorrow evening to resume this conversation?”

“No, that’s fine,” Sodesaki said. The shock had melted from her face, her features returning to their usual refined state.

“Excellent. Until tomorrow, then. I’ll see myself out.”

*

Case files demanded to be organized, but Kirigiri spent most of Thursday thumbing through her notes. Sodesaki and Hakiri were having an affair, but what did that have to do with the girl’s disappearance? The message to Setsuko had been timestamped for 4:56 p.m., meaning that Hakiri had sent it before her argument with Sodesaki. The library had likely just been a cover to keep anyone from asking questions about where she’d stayed the night before.

So following the lovers’ spat, had she headed to the campus library? Kirigiri decided to pay a visit once she finished speaking with Sodesaki again after work. Unless she was given reason to investigate elsewhere, it was the only destination that made sense.

“Looks like you’ve made a bit of a breakthrough,” Kawauchi said, strolling over to Kirigiri’s desk.

“You could say that.”

“Have you cracked it?”

“Not yet. That said, I have found a very valuable source of information.”

“Keep up the good work.” Kawauchi offered a grin and a thumbs up, dropping the scissors he’d borrowed back into the office supplies cup.

*

Fortunately, Sodesaki left the front door unlocked.

“Excuse the intrusion!” Kirigiri said, stepping into the entryway. She removed her heels and borrowed a pair of slippers. The house was silent—no response, not even any movement from a different room.

“Sensei?”

It was possible that Sodesaki was currently in the bathtub or out in the garden. Kirigiri hadn’t specified a time, but she had arrived at roughly the same hour as the day before. The door was even unlocked, meaning that Sodesaki had anticipated her visit.

Kirigiri entered the kitchen and walked to the door leading into the back garden. If Sodesaki was outside, she must have been hiding under one of the large rocks near the koi pond.

A crackle of anxiety bloomed in Kirigiri’s throat. The twins wouldn’t interfere in her investigation…would they? That would hardly be fair, and if nothing else, both Enoshima and Ikusaba were fans of sportsmanship.

“This wolf doesn’t hunt lame prey,” Ikusaba had growled into her ear Saturday night.

“Where’s the fun in defeating a weak enemy?” Enoshima had asked, her fingers tucked just under the waistband of Kirigiri’s underwear.

Still, the hushed house unnerved her. Had Sodesaki fled?

Kirigiri passed through the large room where she’d had tea yesterday and began to climb the staircase on the opposite side.

If Sodesaki had run away, why? To avoid questioning? Or perhaps to keep away from the people who had abducted Hakiri?

The second floor of the house was chillier than the first. Kirigiri found that several windows, including ones in the bathroom, the powder room, and what appeared to be a study, were completely open. At the end of the hallway was a closed Japanese-style door to what had to be Sodesaki’s bedroom. A piece of paper had been taped to it.

As she approached, a pungent chemical odor seeped from the room. Kirigiri looked at the paper, which read “DANGER” in large characters, under which was written “forgive me” in rushed, sloppy script.

“Sodesaki-san!”

The room was locked, so Kirigiri steeled her shoulder and threw her weight against the sliding door. It took a handful of attempts before she knocked it off its hinges. Pressing a handkerchief to her nose and mouth, she hurried into the room. Her eyes stung with tears. Sodesaki was lying in the center of the room on a futon, a stack of papers underneath her hand. Beside her sat a small bucket filled with a yellow substance. Kirigiri crouched down and grabbed Sodesaki’s wrist to pull her toward the hallway. Her throat burned; she wouldn’t be able to hold her breath for much longer.

Kirigiri dropped Sodesaki’s wrist and bolted from the room. Her vision was ringed by blackness, her limbs twitching from lack of oxygen. She tripped on the stairs, tumbling to the bottom, where she gathered what strength she could and threw herself into the garden.

Gasping for breath, Kirigiri coughed and unsteadily got to her hands and knees. She wretched a few times, noting how the rotten smell was no longer present. In fact, she couldn’t smell anything.

Staggering to her feet, Kirigiri entered the house again, rushing to the kitchen to check the electrical breaker. She found it and the gas already shut off. Sighing in relief, Kirigiri sat on the kitchen floor for several minutes, waiting for her sense of smell to return.

Reviewing her notes and examining the first floor, she gave it about an hour before she attempted to go upstairs again.

Back in the bedroom, Sodesaki still lay in the same position Kirigiri had left her. She pressed her wrist against Sodesaki’s neck—it was stone cold, meaning that it had already been too late when she arrived. Pressing her palms together, she offered a short prayer for Sodesaki’s soul and began searching the room.

She found an empty box of laundry detergent and half a bottle of cleanser not far from the bucket; duct tape had been placed along the seams of the windows. The stack of papers that had been under Sodesaki’s hand appeared to be a manuscript for an upcoming fantasy novel featuring a female knight named Itsune Ikuyo. Kirigiri tucked the pages under her arm to read later and continued looking.

The room was rather austere, with the only decorations being a large sumi-e style painting of a bamboo forest and a single large bookshelf. Kirigiri scanned the titles, halting on a book on one of the bottom shelves. It was the only one not written in Japanese—it was in what appeared to be German. Kirigiri’s European language skills were not as sharp as they’d been when she was younger and been able to travel more extensively, but she could tell that the book was an anthology of fairytales and myths.

Flipping through the pages, she found one of them dogeared. Her rusty German told her it was a page describing Frige, the ancient Anglo-Saxon goddess of…something. She made a note in her book and turned back to Sodesaki’s body.

This was going to be a problem. Her cat and mouse game with the twins aside, a woman was dead. For all intents and purposes this appeared to be a suicide, but even so Kirigiri would be obligated to report it. If she didn’t, someone would eventually discover the body and likely suspect foul play. A famous recluse found dead in her own home without explanation, her bedroom doors mysteriously smashed in…it would be suspicious. Then there was the DNA evidence that Kirigiri had been in the house, from the hair she’d probably shed to the lip prints on the tea cup she’d used the day before.

What could she do? She couldn’t go to her grandfather, because then he’d know she’d been taking cases without his permission. At the very least, her humble caseload would be revoked, and she would have nothing but filing work ahead of her for the foreseeable future. There was also a chance—a small chance, but there nonetheless—that her grandfather might disown her on the spot. He might write her off as having too much of her father in her, and replace her with a different, more obedient young woman the way he’d swapped Kawauchi for his own son.

Perhaps she could pass along a tip to Naegi, who could in turn anonymously deliver it to the police? Yet that still didn’t solve the issue of Kirigiri’s biological evidence being undoubtedly left behind in the house. If her grandfather were to learn of her snooping around behind his back from anyone but Kirigiri herself, his anger would be magnified.

At least she wouldn’t have to convince Fukawa to stay out of it.

Though much of it had dissipated, the hydrogen sulfide was beginning to make her feel dizzy and nauseous again. She needed to get out of this house.

“I’m sorry, Sensei,” she said, exiting the bedroom. “I’ll do what I can.”

Kirigiri would return home first, then decide what to do about reporting Sodesaki’s suicide. She grabbed her coat and shoes from the entryway and carefully closed the door behind her.

On her way out she found a typed note stapled to the heavy wooden door next to the front gate.

 _Don’t worry about it,_  it read.

Kirigiri whipped around and searched the garden for signs of movement, but she didn’t see anyone. Had the note been there when she arrived? Had she just not noticed it when she came in because she was so lost in thought about where the investigation was going, and it was attached to the side of the door she wasn’t facing? Or had one or both of the twins been in the house the whole time?

She shuddered.

Kirigiri pulled the note card off the door and flipped it over.  _We said, don’t worry about it._

Did that mean the twins were going to handle this situation? How could they possibly cover up the suicide of someone due to begin promoting her newest novel within a month or so? If they were capable of that, what else could they do?

“Concentrate on your cases,” said Enoshima’s voice from a shard of Kirigiri’s memory. The words were connected in her mind to the strong smell of leather, but there was no visual component. “Leave the details to us,” added Ikusaba’s voice.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kirigiri said, dropping the notecard to the garden path and exiting through the gate.

She was about three blocks away when the explosion ripped through her eardrums. Her eyes were still sensitive to light, so she only watched the towering blaze that had been the Sodesaki residence for a second or two before turning around and walking back toward the subway station.

*

Kirigiri took a holiday on Friday.

“Are you ill?” her grandfather had asked over the phone Thursday night.

“Yes,” Kirigiri had said. It wasn’t exactly a lie.

She had two full days left to solve this case, and her single lead had inexplicably removed herself from relevance. Kirigiri had spent the entire train ride home wondering why Sodesaki would decide to take her own life. Unless of course it hadn’t actually been her choice. Yet Kirigiri couldn’t come up with any reason for the twins to eliminate Sodesaki. They wanted the case to be challenging, surely, but not impossible. Where was the fun in that?

A postcard depicting the annual summer fireworks on the Sumida River had been waiting on her kitchen table when she got home.  _Our apologies for the complication,_ it had read, _it was the result of a miscalculation on our part. As a show of good faith, please accept the following clue: 160.1521294._

After hanging up with her grandfather, Kirigiri had taken a shower and thrown her clothes into the laundry. Despite the refreshing drumming of water on her scalp, she hadn’t been able to relax, realizing that sleep was likely impossible. Instead, she had sat at her computer until dawn, researching Frige.

There hadn’t been much to learn, considering that most of the records concerning her no longer existed. However, one of the websites had suggested a connection to the Norse goddess Freyja, patron of love, sexuality, beauty, magic, fecundity, war, and violent death. Several of the concepts that fell under her umbrella seemed like things that would appeal to one or both of the twins. Further research on Freyja didn’t offer much though, aside from a German cosmetics line and a British furniture designer.

Kirigiri lifted her curtain and stared blearily at the intense orange of the sunrise. She should at least attempt to sleep. In a few hours she would visit the Waseda Library. There was nowhere else to try at this point.

Tucked under the covers, she slipped her fingers between her thighs. _Relax, relax._

*

The Waseda University Library was a massive building, the entrance located at the base of a clock tower in the center. Despite that it was a common architectural choice for Japanese schools, looking at it reminded Kirigiri too much of Kibougamine. Why couldn’t she have attended the girls’ academy connected to her junior high instead?

She knew why. Staying in that school system would have been far too painful. It wasn’t as if she’d had anyone else she cared about there. Had she stayed, she never could have faced her father. She never could have proven to her grandfather that it was possible to go to Kibougamine and still come out a true Kirigiri detective. Besides, had she never gone, neither Naegi nor Celes would be in her life. Certainly they were worth crossing paths with Enoshima and Ikusaba.

Kirigiri entered the building and walked toward the front desk, where a young woman was busy typing on a computer. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail and she wore square, red-framed glasses connected to a chain that wrapped around her head. Under different circumstances, Kirigiri would have found her cute. Too young to invite on a date, but certainly attractive enough to remember when she woke up in the middle of the night with a thrumming between her legs.

“Excuse me,” she said, approaching the girl. Kirigiri opened her notebook, prepared to begin questioning, revealing the postcard she’d received the night before with the clue. 160.152129.

160.152129. A library call number.

Suppressing a groan, Kirigiri asked the librarian where to find the 160 section. It was on the second floor, under a large sign that read “Religion.” She walked the length of the ceiling-high shelves, locating the book matching the call number. It was a reference on Norse mythology, poking a few centimeters out from its adjacent books. Somewhat insulted that the twins felt the need to call her attention in such a way, Kirigiri pulled the book from the shelf. A small object wrapped in paper dropped to the floor.

She picked it up and unwrapped it: it was a human finger.  _Hurry,_ the paper read, _483._

Heat flashed through Kirigiri’s body, causing her to clench the finger in her fist. How long had it been behind this book? Since the original challenge had been issued, or was this meant as an incentive to get her moving faster on the case?

Don’t panic. Keep cool. You can do this.

_The girl is missing a finger. You have less than 48 hours left to find her._

Stay focused. You’re no good to her if you shut down.

_If the time runs out, what else will the girl lose?_

Kirigiri opened the book and flipped to page 483. It was a full-page illustration of the beginning of Ragnarok, titled “Then the Awful Fright Began.” The opposing page, 482, was a description of the role Loki’s son Fenrir would play in the end of the world. Someone had doodled a wolf head in the upper left corner; it was crude, as if drawn by a child, but the beast had blood dripping from its muzzle that continued to the bottom of the page.

Kirigiri recognized the design—she had seen it almost a week ago, on the back of Ikusaba’s right hand as it disappeared under her skirt. In fact, Ikusaba had had the tattoo since the first time Kirigiri had met her, during the weekend she’d moved into Kibougamine’s dorms. She remembered making a note of it at the time, wondering what kind of person would choose that part of their anatomy to decorate.

Fenrir. Ikusaba hadn’t attended junior high school in Japan. In fact, it was rumored that she hadn’t gone at all, and had instead spent three years in the Mediterranean and the Middle East with a group of mercenaries. During their talks in high school, Ikusaba had only ever vaguely alluded to those years of her life, and the most she had revealed was that she had traveled often and been away from her sister. If Naegi’s intel was to be believed, Ikusaba had skipped university as well in favor of re-joining her comrades in arms for a few more years while Enoshima earned her degree.

Was this it? Was this the conclusive piece of evidence to tie the twins to the kidnapping? It couldn’t be. Regardless of how apologetic they were about Sodesaki impeding the investigation, there was little chance that they’d simply give Kirigiri the answer. There had to be more.

Her eyes followed the blood drops from the wolf’s mouth down the page. She noticed that the page numbers had been plugged into complicated algebraic equations. With the help of her phone calculator—it may not have been the most recent model, but it still served some use—she solved for x on one page and y on the other, writing the long strings of numbers in her notebook.

She replaced the book and walked toward the exit. It wasn’t until she went to wave to the cute librarian that she remembered she still had Hakiri’s finger. Outside, she drew an evidence baggie from her coat pocket and dropped the finger inside, tucking it into the pouch sewn into the inside of her blazer. She would need to find a way to dispose of it later, unless the twins were planning to tie up that loose end too.

*

Finding no note on her kitchen table when she returned to her apartment, Kirigiri released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Sitting at her desk, she booted her computer and opened the notebook. What could the answers to the math problems mean? If one was x, and the other y…

Coordinates.

She plugged the values into her browser and tapped an impatient finger waiting for the map to load, making a mental note to upgrade her PC as soon as she purchased a new phone.

The coordinates pointed to a cheap business hotel in Shibuya.

_Got you._

It was about a ten to fifteen minute walk from the closest subway stop. Kirigiri could feel the severed finger pressing into her as she walked, her eyes glued to the arrow on her maps app. Adrenaline had begun to pool in her gut, causing a constant buzzing behind her eyes. This was it. It had to be it. Hakiri was being held at this hotel; she would be released as soon as Kirigiri proved that Enoshima and Ikusaba had a hand in her abduction. The finger probably didn’t even belong to the girl.

And then…then she would get to claim her reward.

The roar in her head grew louder. With victory looming, she could now afford to remember how good it had felt to be ravaged by the twins. Almost a week was far too long to go without being tangled between them, her body aching and straining. She wanted to feel Enoshima’s teeth and lips graze her skin; she wanted to feel Ikusaba’s fingers curling within her. She wanted to hear them praise her, to commend one another on making the correct choice of rival. She wanted to go into work on Monday and hold her head high, to tell Kawauchi that she’d solved the case—a difficult case, one her vaunted grandfather would struggle with—without help. She wanted to schedule a meeting with Celes and Naegi herself, to show off  the bruises and scratches and bites like the trophies they were. She wanted to look Celes in the eye and say, “Actually, the performances are set to keep a regular schedule.”

Kirigiri made a hard left and cut down an alleyway. It fed into a small side street, where the business hotel was located. It was a shabby, five-story building that badly needed a new coat of paint and the aid of a window-washing service. She entered and approached the reception desk. The lobby was in disarray; several ceiling tiles were missing, allowing various cables to dangle into the room. The reception desk was smeared with dust. A small, battered cardboard sign announced that check-in ended at eight p.m. It sat next to a large computer that made Kirigiri’s look state of the art.

“Sumimasen,” she said, bowing to the man behind the scuffed counter. “I’m here to meet with a colleague of mine. Would you mind letting me know what room she’s staying in?”

“Is the guest expecting your arrival?”

“Yes, I spoke to her a few minutes ago.”

“Very well. What is her name?”

“Hakiri Bara.”

The man tapped on the ancient keyboard and frowned at the CRT screen. “I’m afraid we don’t have any guests under that name.”

The severed finger jabbed Kirigiri. She had verified the coordinates no less than five times, and they consistently referred to the exact hotel she was currently standing in. Hakiri had to be here.

Kirigiri reached inside her jacket to adjust the finger so it would stop poking her in the side. Her own fingers rustled paper. She pulled out the first few pages of Sodesaki’s unfinished manuscript. Kirigiri had quickly read over it the night before during a break in her research. The story wasn’t particularly interesting, focusing on a young, idealistic lady knight and her faithful sorceress mentor.

Ah.

“Forgive me,” Kirigiri said to the clerk, “the room should actually be under the company president’s name, Itsune Ikuyo.”

The man clacked away on the keyboard, the computer emitting mechanical whines. “I see. It’s right here. It looks like she checked in last Saturday evening?”

“That’s correct.”

“Room 318,” he said.

The elevator was carpeted in a discolored greenish-beige mat that was too large for the size of the car; it bunched up at the sides. The walls might have reflected Kirigiri’s face back at her if they’d ever been cleaned of the grime coating them, and the doors uttered a disconcerting squeal every time they opened or closed. A handwritten sign had been taped on the back wall, apologizing for the lack of housekeeping services until after the New Year and advising guests to take towels from the tables by the elevators if needed. At least the ride was solitary—she doubted another person could even fit inside the narrow space with her.

Getting off at the third floor, Kirigiri followed the sign pointing toward rooms 301 through 320 and stopped at the second to last door. She twisted the handle and found that it was unlocked. Pulse quickening, she stepped into the room.

It was empty.

Like the dorm room, clothing was scattered all over the floor. The bed was mussed and unmade, the TV switched to RGB input mode. Even though it was December, the air conditioner was set to its lowest possible temperature. Kirigiri checked in the bathroom, only to find more clothes blanketing the sink, tub, and toilet. No sign of Hakiri.

Was this some kind of trick? Were the coordinates a red herring? If Hakiri wasn’t here, where was she? Had she been here earlier in the week and then secretly moved before Kirigiri arrived? Though if the twins were going to do that, why go to the trouble of helping her after Sodesaki killed herself?

Unless…unless the twins weren’t sincere. What if Kirigiri had been set up to fail since the beginning? What if this was an elaborate ruse to make her despair? She snorted in disgust at the black satin panties draped over the faucet. She picked them up; they were smeared in lipstick stains. She was being mocked. Enoshima and Ikusaba were taunting her now. Kirigiri had showed her hand the previous weekend, and now they knew that she was a sad, obsessed admirer. They gave her a taste of what she’d fantasized about for the past several years, and now they were teasing her for hoping there would be more. It was sadistic. It was cruel. It was perfectly in character for the twins.

Kirigiri stared at her reflection in the mirror, tears beginning to form in her eyes. Why was this particular mirror the only clean surface in the entire damn hotel, anyway? It only had a single lipstick smudge, in the corner, right over the reflection of…the bed…

Slowly, she turned and looked behind her. The way the duvet was bunched up, it didn’t appear as if someone could be underneath it, but…

No.

Against her better judgment, Kirigiri approached the bed, unable to slow her own steps.

No, no, no.

Her adrenaline had peaked, causing her fingers to tremble as she reached her hand toward the cover. She seized a fistful and yanked it back.

Six lumps of meat sealed in plastic sat on the mattress. They appeared to be no different than the shrink wrapped beef or pork organs sold in the supermarket, except each package was labeled “BaraBara-chan” followed by a number between one and six.

Kirigiri’s free hand clapped over her mouth, her eyes widening. The severed finger felt as though it were caught between her ribs, digging into her flesh. This wasn’t right. She had solved the case with more than twenty-four hours to spare.  She was the only one who was supposed to be punished if she didn’t solve the case.

They hadn’t said anything about the victim, she realized. The twins kept their word, but if they’d never promised anything, there was no word to keep, was there?

_The clerk said she checked in Saturday night._

But, but-

_That’s why they were late._

It’s not… They-

_Saturday night, while you were feeling sorry for yourself at the reunion._

That…that can’t-

_Saturday night, while you were fucking the twins on the other side of town._

“I-” Kirigiri said, her breath trapped in her throat.

She felt a sharp pressure on the back of her neck, and succumbed to the darkness.

*

“See, Nee-chan? I told you a week was plenty of time.”

“If you say so. I still think it cut pretty close.”

“Maybe we just have different ideas about how long an 'appropriate’ amount of time is.”

“I guess.”

“Speaking of inappropriate amounts of time, is she going to wake up anytime this century?”

Kirigiri groaned as she opened her eyes.

“What timing! Morning, beautiful.” Kirigiri felt someone seize her chin and tilt her head upward. The overhead lights burned her eyes; the woman in front of her looked like a shadow projected onto a flat wall.

“Eno…shima-san.”

“Are we really still going to use honorifics, Kirigiri? I’ve been knuckle deep in your pussy, and you still want to call me 'Enoshima-san’?”

“She’s not going to call you 'Junko-chan’, I can tell you that,” Mukuro said.

“Good point. Maybe it would be more fitting if she called me 'Mistress’. What do you think?” Junko jostled Kirigiri’s head back and forth.

“Then what would that make me?” Mukuro asked.

“Who gives a shit what you’re called?”

Mukuro stepped into Kirigiri’s line of vision, wrapping an arm around her sister’s waist.

“She’s got to scream  _something_  when I make her come.”

“Fine, fine. We’ll worry about it later. We have better things to do right now.”

Junko released Kirigiri’s chin, allowing her head to droop forward. Dazed, Kirigiri looked to her right and left; she appeared to be in some kind of warehouse. She was sitting in a wooden chair, similar to what would be used in a classroom. Though she wasn’t restrained, her limbs felt heavy, and she doubted she could get far even if she managed to stand up.

“So,” Junko said, leaning against a wall of crates, “let’s see your evidence.”

“I, um…” Kirigiri’s head pounded, as if hungover. What was the evidence she’d collected?

“Kirigiri.” Mukuro roughly kicked the chair with her foot. “We’re waiting.”

“Just give me a second,” she said, reaching into her pocket for her notebook. She dropped it on the floor and slowly leaned to pick it up. Her fingers grasped empty air twice before working around the binding.

“Tick tock,” Junko said.

Kirigiri flipped through the pages. “Hakiri-san and Sodesaki-sensei were having an affair.”

Junko snorted. “If you could really call it that. They barely even held hands.”

“Sodesaki-sensei was the last person to see Hakiri-san before her disappearance, not long after five o'clock p.m. According to the staff at the hotel, Hakiri-san checked in under a pseudonym lifted from Sodesaki-san’s upcoming novel sometime Saturday night. Since check-ins at that particular hotel finish at eight p.m., it’s safe to conclude that she was abducted between five-ten and eight o'clock last Saturday.”

Mukuro nodded, her arms crossed.

“The two of you didn’t arrive at the reunion until well past nine-thirty. I’m certain of it because I was checking my watch every few minutes as a result of having a terrible time.”

Junko grinned.

“So, it’s well within the realm of possibility that the two of you could have kidnapped Hakiri-san after she left the Sodesaki residence and taken her to the hotel before meeting me in Shinjuku.”

“I think you missed a step there,” Junko said. Her lips parted, revealing her teeth.

“Go on,” Mukuro said.

Kirigiri cleared her throat, pushing the vision of the plastic wrapped organs aside.

“In addition, I found a single non-Japanese book in Sodesaki-sensei’s room following her abrupt suicide.”

“God, what a loser,” Junko said, elbowing Mukuro in the side. “Right? Could’ve popped that girl’s cherry, but refused because of honor or whatever. Lame. Good thing we weren’t as chivalrous, right Nee-chan?”

“She was weak. She did the world a favor by taking herself out of it.”

“It’s sad, really. At least we made sure BaraBara-chan got to have some fun before she bit it.”

Kirigiri’s throat had begun to close up, but she couldn’t stop talking now. Not when the stakes had been lain so transparently bare.

“It was a book of fairytales, written in German. One page was dogeared, describing the Anglo-Saxon goddess Frige. Upon doing some research, I found that she is often associated with the Norse goddess Freyja, who shares areas of expertise with the two of you.”

“Beauty,” said Junko.

“War,” said Mukuro.

“Sexuality.”

“Love.”

“Violent death,” they said in unison.

“Freyja also happens to reside in the same pantheon as a monstrous wolf known as Fenrir, said to play a crucial role during Ragnarok, the end of the world. I located a book describing this mythical being thanks to some intervention by a kind benefactor.”

“That was a busy day for you,” Junko said, tangling her fingers in her sister’s hair.

“I think you mean that day was a pain in the ass.”

Junko planted a kiss on Mukuro’s cheek. “Thank you,” she said, her voice saccharine.

“By solving some equations in the book on Norse mythology, I determined the coordinates of the hotel where Hakiri-san was…being kept, and located her earlier today.”

“That’s great, Kirigiri, really. We’re impressed you managed to locate BaraBara-chan…or what’s left of her, anyway. Aren’t we, Nee-chan?”

“We’re deeply impressed.”

“Yep. See? Muku-nee is beside herself with glee. But as remarkable as that is, it doesn’t really prove that we’re to blame.”

“I’m getting to that.”

“Oh, I see. You’re getting to that.” Junko placed a hand on Mukuro’s shoulder and nodded. “She’s getting to that.”

“Get to it faster,” Mukuro said.

“Right. So in the book on Norse mythology, there was a drawing…an etching of Fenrir’s head. I was certain I had seen it somewhere before, and after short deliberation, I realized that the symbol matched the tattoo on the back of Ikusaba-san’s hand.”

Kirigiri pointed toward Mukuro, who crossed her arms.

“So?” she asked.

“It’s significant because you received that tattoo during your tenure in a group of mercenaries who called themselves 'Fenrir’.”

“Should’ve let me draw it,” Junko said. “You didn’t get the artistic gene.”

Mukuro frowned. “We have the same genes, Junko-chan. And give me a break. It’s hard trying to draw something when it’s on the back of the hand holding the pen.”

Kirigiri cleared her throat and the twins turned back toward her.

“Fenrir is based out of Europe, northern Africa, and the Middle East. Presumably they’re still active, at least if my grandfather’s recent business trip to Egypt is any indication. Hakiri-san was politically active and vocally against violence in Israel and Palestine. In fact, she was saving money to visit the region and make a movie to appeal to both sides’ humanity.”

“Naive little shit.” Mukuro’s nostrils flared. “What the hell did she know about anything?”

“Nee-chan, what do you call superiors in the military?”

“Sir? Ma'am?”

“No, not that. Like, the rank. Isn’t there a nickname for one of them?”

“I don’t-”

“Sarge! That’s it. Sarge. Anyway, I think that’s what Kirigiri should call you from now on.”

“Sarge?”

“Yeah. I’ll be Mistress and you can be Sarge.”

“That’s not my rank.”

“Must you ruin everything?” Rolling her eyes and shaking her head in exasperation, Junko turned back to Kirigiri. “Sorry. You were saying?”

“Ikusaba-san is a member of the mercenary group Fenrir, which conducts some of its operations in Israel and Palestine. The victim was opposed to what Fenrir stands for. The group’s symbol was drawn in a book found alongside Hakiri-san’s finger.” Kirigiri fished the digit out of her blazer.

“Ew, you kept that thing? You’re into some weird shit, Kirigiri.” Junko chuckled, her voice taking on a high-pitched, childish tone. “It was a good try, but unfortunately, it’s not enough.”

“Not enough?”

Junko straightened her posture and mimed pushing glasses up her nose. “Everything you’ve presented so far is what would be termed 'circumstantial evidence’ in a court of law. There’s a loose connection, certainly, but nothing conclusive. I’m afraid that means it’s insufficient.”

“In other words,” Mukuro said, “you lose.”

“I’m not done,” Kirigiri said.

“What?”

“I’m not done,” she repeated. “In other words, I still have more evidence.”

“Really! Do tell.” Junko leaned forward on a box, her chin resting in both hands.

“As you pointed out, everything I’ve said so far suggests a connection, but it doesn’t prove anything. However, this final piece of evidence is iron clad.”

Junko reached to her side and grabbed a handful of her sister’s shirt sleeve. “Iron clad,” she whispered.

“Here,” Kirigiri said, pulling the pair of black underwear from inside her coat, “this is the defining piece of evidence.”

“Panties?” Mukuro said.

“Yes. This pair of underwear is from a line that Enoshima-san endorses. These are from the hotel room, but I found a similar pair in Hakiri-san’s dorm as well. As you can see, unlike the ones in the dorm, this pair is covered in lipstick stains of an unusual orangey-plum color—the exact same shade as the lipstick Enoshima-san is currently wearing.”

Junko puckered her lips before bursting into giggles. Mukuro threw her sister an impatient glance.

“That rather unique hue is actually one called Fólkvangr, after the heavenly realm ruled over by Freyja. Appropriate, since it comes from a line of cosmetics named after her.”

“Are you arguing that Junko-chan is the only person who would wear that makeup?”

“Freyja brand cosmetics are some of the finest in the world. They’re so exclusive, that they actually aren’t sold outside of Germany and Denmark. Hakiri-san was an average university student, who couldn’t afford to travel to Europe and buy expensive makeup. If she’d had any money, it would have gone toward funding her Jerusalem trip. Also, it’s common knowledge that Sodesaki-sensei never set foot outside of Japan, so there’s no way she could get her hands on it either.”

Kirigiri tried not to make eye contact with either twin. Both Junko’s enthusiasm and Mukuro’s intensity could shake her at this critical moment.

“So if someone were to obtain Freyja lipstick, it would have to be someone who traveled extensively. Someone working in and around Europe. Say, perhaps, a soldier?” Kirigiri saw Mukuro grimace in her peripheral vision.

“What if I say that’s purely based on conjecture?” Junko said, her smile so wide it looked like it would split her face.

“Then I would request a recess to perform DNA analysis on these panties,” Kirigiri said.

She drew a breath and held it. The air in the room had gone taut. Neither of the twins moved or spoke.

After nearly a full minute of silence, Junko exploded with laughter.

“Congratulations, Kirigiri,” she said, “the winner is you!”

“Well done,” Mukuro added.

Kirigiri exhaled, deflating into her chair. She dropped the panties and the finger to the floor, her notebook splayed open on her lap.

“To be honest, we lobbed you a bit of a softball with this first case,” Junko said. “This was more for giving you an idea of what we’re looking for.”

“I hope you keep pace with the difficulty curve,” Mukuro said. “We won’t make things so easy in the future.”

“But don’t worry about that for now. You won this time; let’s get you your reward.”

Junko nodded to Mukuro, who approached Kirigiri and shoved a pillowcase over her head. Mukuro picked her up and carried her bridal style through what sounded like the door. Outside she shivered at the breeze.

“Relax,” Mukuro said. “The blindfold is just so that we can surprise you.”

She’d had more than enough surprises courtesy of the twins within the past week, but her objection withered when she recalled the image of Hakiri’s remains.

Mukuro dumped Kirigiri into the backseat of a car and buckled her in. The seats smelled strongly of leather, tickling the week-old fragments of her memory. She heard the twins chatting in the front, Junko toying with the radio, irritably changing stations whenever their former classmate Maizono’s new single came on. The tension in her muscles had just begun to unravel when the car stopped and she was once again retrieved from the backseat.

Kirigiri could tell when they went back indoors and entered an elevator. The ride took several minutes, and then she was in motion again, being lugged down what she assumed was a hallway before passing through another door.

Mukuro placed her on something soft and ripped the pillowcase from her head. Kirigiri was sitting on a double bed in the middle of a tastefully decorated hotel room. She looked out the large windows at the deepening dusk, noting Shinjuku’s skyline in the dying light.

“You brought me to the Park Hyatt?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

“It’s a special occasion,” Mukuro said, lighting a cigarette and producing a bottle of wine from the fridge. “Sorry we had to bring you up in the service elevator.”

“It’s not everyday that someone bests us,” Junko added, taking three glasses from the counter.

Mukuro lined up the glasses and began to pour the deep red wine. Junko peeled off her skin-tight dress, revealing a black lace lingerie set.

“Let’s get you out of that unfortunate outfit,” she said, hopping onto the bed and stripping Kirigiri to her own underwear. Kirigiri offered a silent thanks to her past self for having the forethought not to wear her comfortable, lazy day bra and panties.

Mukuro shrugged off her shirt and discarded her pants, handing Junko and Kirigiri each a glass of wine and joining them on the bed. She sat to Kirigiri’s right, while her sister claimed the left side.

“To our beautiful partnership,” Junko said, raising her wine glass toward the ceiling. Kirigiri and Mukuro followed suit. “May we enjoy equally gratifying antics for a long time to come.”

“Kanpai!” Mukuro said.

“Cheers,” Kirigiri said.

They clinked their glasses and downed the wine. Finished, both twins tossed the cups aside and pounced on the woman between them.

It was a reward, Kirigiri told herself. She should be enjoying it, rather than worrying that at any moment, the twins would tear her to pieces. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for this part is "Dirty Kyouko" which is a play off of "Dirty Harry"--the allusion is that Bara-chan has been dead since before the case even started.
> 
> Also worth noting is that my friend Andrew originally suggested that the clinching piece of evidence should be a pair of Junko's panties, so I worked that in as well.


	4. Part II: 不思議な国の響子 Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday to the Despair Sisters! 
> 
> I have been convinced by the peerless Miss_Prince to upload the next Part of Dorokei in smaller chunks so I can get it out faster and not overwhelm readers quite so much with a huge wall of text. I'm still working on finishing this Part, but I wanted to post something for the twins' birthday and I thought that this might be a good time to get the ball rolling on Dorokei again.
> 
> Please enjoy!

One of Kirigiri's earliest memories was of her grandfather slamming the door to their Los Angeles condo on a Jehovah's Witness.

“Faith is for the weak,” he'd said, his lips moving stiffly over clenched teeth. Later, Kirigiri would think of this moment whenever she watched a Clint Eastwood film. “Our family deals in facts and truths.”

He'd gone on to call the religion a cult, and had advised Kirigiri to never allow herself to be drawn into one. “They tell you what you want hear, then use that to break you into more manageable pieces.”

Kirigiri tentatively stepped into the room; her heel sank into the bloated flesh of a dead cultist. The floor was carpeted in them, a sickly-sweet, rotten smell hanging in the air. Nothing to be done, then.

She pressed further into the room, trying to keep her footfalls as light as possible, ignoring the squelch that accompanied every step. When she glanced down, she noticed that many of the cultists shared the same bizarre tattoos: a long red one over the left eye, looking like either a wing or a bloody gash, depending on the angle, and a toothy cartoon grin on the left side of the face.

The smell grew thicker the closer she came to the center of the floor, but the definitive evidence had to be in this room. There was no doubt she'd interpreted the clues correctly.

There was a small night table towards the middle of the mass of bodies, cubes of what she recognized as flesh stacked in a pyramid on top of it. Kirigiri eased the single sheet of graph paper out from under the grisly decoration and studied the pattern that had been meticulously shaded in the blocks.

Looking around the room, Kirigiri checked the apartment's listing on a realty website and mentally scaled it to the sheet of paper in her hand. If it was lined up correctly, the evidence should be right...

...a single gloved hand reached between two shredded, dismembered torsos to find nothing but more fresh body parts.

Grimacing, Kirigiri straightened back up and scanned the room again. The map was a red herring. The twins had been doing that more often recently. In their last extortion case, Kirigiri had ended up investigating in a completely unrelated city thanks to some taxi receipts she later learned had been forged and planted. Two cases ago she'd wasted an entire day waiting at a dockyard for a shipment of weapons that never arrived.

With a sigh, she began gently nudging the bodies with her foot to check beneath them. She'd have to check the entire room, then.

In the three months since the reunion, Kirigiri had succeeded in proving the twins' guilt in every single case they'd thrown at her. This current cult murder-suicide wasn't the most difficult thing they had placed in front of her—it was more of an irritating chore than anything else. Or it would be, if it hadn't involved the extermination of at least fifty people.

Somewhere in the nebulous realm where people went after they died, someone was likely very upset with her for not preventing this.

Were the red herrings a sign that she'd sufficiently impressed the twins enough to warrant a difficulty spike? Or were they growing bored with her winning streak?

Kirigiri pushed aside the curious thought about what exactly failure entailed and continued sifting through corpses.

*** * ***

She had barely pulled the cell phone from her pocket when the twins pounced on her. She never got the opportunity to show that the email address contacting the cult leader to send instructions was an anagram of Enoshima's first agent filtered through three ciphers and then converted to binary.

“Yeah, yeah, you solved it again, Wizkid, good job,” Junko said, her nails already digging into Kirigiri's elbow. “I'm horny. Let's go.”

“Will I be treated to a proper bed this time, or will you just be having your way with me in the alley again?”

“Listen, if I want to fuck you into a concrete floor, I will.” Junko's grip tightened, small pricks of pain blooming where her nails made contact. “But you're in luck this time. Muku-nee.”

Mukuro hoisted Kirigiri bridal style and carried her out of the garage. When she opened the door, Kirigiri realized that it was next to a large, Western style house. It was built into a sloping hill, surrounded on all sides by what appeared to be an average neighborhood. Kirigiri didn't recognize it; she'd dozed off once the pillowcase had gone over her head, so she wasn't sure how long they'd been in the car. Were they still in Tokyo?

Junko slipped inside the front door of the house, Mukuro following right after. Once over the threshold, the smell of freshly cut wood and wet paint slapped Kirigiri's nose. Several areas of the interior were draped in transparent plastic, a few of the walls nothing more than skeletons constructed of two-by-fours.

A newly built house, or one under renovation? _Does someone live here?_ Kirigiri wondered as Mukuro climbed the stairs and stepped into the bedroom after her sister. _Is this someone's home?_

Junko shed her clothes like a starfish discarding a dead limb and pulled away the plastic covering the king-sized bed. There wasn't any other furniture in the room, reminding Kirigiri of the corpse-packed apartment she had just visited earlier that day. Junko patted the duvet and Mukuro tossed Kirigiri onto the mattress.

Junko's knee was in her gut not a second after her back touched the bed, hands furiously ripping off her jacket, tie, and shirt. Without a sound, Mukuro appeared behind her, bare nipples brushing against Kirigiri's shoulder blades.

“Remember not to scream too loudly,” Junko whispered in Kirigiri's ear as Mukuro pressed the flat of a large hunting knife against her hip. “We wouldn't want to disturb the neighbors.”

*** * ***

“When did you lose it, Kirigiri?” Junko asked, languidly tracing circles around her captive's naval. Her fingertip dodged between the small, bleeding incisions that spiraled around Kirigiri's belly button like stars being sucked into a black hole.

Kirigiri felt exposed, now that the adrenaline rush was over. She lay on her back, right arm pinned beneath Mukuro, who had draped her own arm over Kirigiri's torso, just beneath her breasts. Kirigiri's left arm was positioned so that her hand was tucked beneath her pillow. Junko had straddled one of her legs and wrapped it between her own, resting her head on Kirigiri's left shoulder. Her even breathing had fallen in step with Kirigiri's heartbeat and the pulsing pain in each of her tiny cuts.

“I was thirteen,” Kirigiri said.

“Oh? That's earlier than I expected.”

“Were you under the impression that my first time had occurred after the class reunion?”

“Come on,” Mukuro said, her breath stale from the cigarette she'd finished smoking a few minutes ago. “You weren't _that_ bad.”

“To be fair, I was extremely intoxicated and suffering a minor concussion that night.”

Mukuro chuckled and playfully took Kirigiri's earlobe between her teeth. “Don't worry. You've gotten better.”

Junko splayed her fingers and gently pressed her palm into the flesh south of Kirigiri's belly button. For a moment, Kirigiri was gripped by the irrational fear that Junko would reach through the skin and rip out her uterus. That really would destroy the final vestiges of her grandfather's hopes for continuing the bloodline.

“So, who was it with?” Junko asked. “I can't picture you with a man. Though, I guess maybe that's how you found out you were a total lez. You and some middle-age private dick, sweaty and grunting outside your grandpa's office. I bet he came really fast and didn't even finish you. No wonder you're off men.”

“I sure couldn't blame you,” Mukuro said.

“Actually,” Kirigiri said, swallowing the stomach acid that had bubbled up into her throat, “I have never been with a man. I lost my virginity to my senpai in her dorm room at our all-girl academy.”

“Jesus fuck.” A violent burst of laughter shot from Junko's nose like a bullet. “Your life is like a goddamn shoujo ai manga.”

“Perhaps.”

“Do you regret it?” Mukuro asked.

Honestly, she couldn't say.

“At the time I was frustrated because I wanted her to treat me like a partner and not a younger sister.”

Both twins hissed with laughter.

“In retrospect, I pushed her into it. I should have respected her wanting to wait.”

“She break up with you?”

“Yes.”

They had remained “friends” the way people did to pretend that their connection to one another wasn't terminal. Samidare had been crushed by guilt, always apologizing and never meeting her eyes. _You're too young,_ she'd said. _I shouldn't have let it happen._

Eventually, it must've become too painful to face Kirigiri directly, because one day Samidare had stopped visiting the junior high section of the school altogether. Kirigiri had attempted to visit her dorm a few times, only to be informed by older students that Samidare wasn't feeling well.

Needless to say, Kirigiri no longer tagged along on her cases after that.

“And what's your ex up to now?” Junko asked. Kirigiri could hear the clinking of gears turning in her head.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Enoshima-san, but it's a little late for her to be of any use to you.”

“Oh really now.”

“Yes. Not long after our falling out, she was killed while investigating a case.”

Had they still been speaking at the time, perhaps it could've been prevented. Perhaps Kirigiri could have persuaded Samidare not to take such a high-profile case, or helped her to avoid falling into the kidnapper's trap. At the very least, Kirigiri wouldn't have wasted time agonizing over whether or not it was her place to butt in, only to arrive too late.

“Hmm, I see,” Junko said, tracing a star on Kirigiri's skin with her nail. “How disappointing.”

“Heh. And you call me a disappointment.”

Mukuro snorted and sat up. She reached to the bedside table and tucked a fresh cigarette between her lips. With a crisp click, she lit it with the lighter Kirigiri had yet to see her without. She was unsure if the Fenrir symbol etched into the metal was official, or something Mukuro had custom ordered.

“That's because it's true. As terrible as you are though, you don't have a monopoly on being an utter failure. What, are you trying to corner the market?”

“Maybe. What are you going to do about it, trust buster?” Mukuro smirked and winked at her sister.

“If you really want to impress me, do something right for a change.”

“Your wish is my command, Junko-chan.”

“Nobody wants to hear you state the obvious.” Junko waved a hand dismissively and rolled onto her back, tucking both hands behind her head. “Speaking of doing things right, bag up our masturbation aid here and make sure she ends up back in her box.”

“Got it.”

Kirigiri didn't resist as the room slipped out of view, exchanged for the texture of a cotton pillowcase. She allowed Mukuro to pick her up and carry her to the car outside. She didn't bother paying attention to the radio when Mukuro turned it on, other than to hear that a series of robberies had taken place in Ginza. Kawauchi would be busy. These days, her grandfather didn't bother with paltry cases of theft, no matter how upscale the mark.

During the few times she'd been conscious while being taken home, Junko had always been present, yammering away about something or other, asking Kirigiri to rate her impressions, showering her in questions that ranged from probing to inane.

Mukuro, by contrast, seemed content to let silence settle between them, the soft murmur of the news drowning out all the things they weren't saying.

Years ago, Kirigiri would have savored a chance to be alone with Ikusaba Mukuro, to have established an intimate enough relationship to feel comfortable asking her questions. Right now, however, all Kirigiri wanted to do was sleep. She was tired.

So, so tired.

The pillowcase interior yielded to the backs of Kirigiri's eyelids as she rested her head against the door. She'd not be able to tell how far away the reward site was from her own apartment, but that was fine. It didn't matter anyway.

As she fell asleep, her mind drifted back to the day with the Jehovah's Witness.

“It's what cults do, Kyouko. They'll isolate you, cut you off from everyone in your life but them. Then, when you're lying there missing all your limbs, they'll threaten to walk out the door and leave you to bleed to death. That is, unless you do exactly as they say.”


	5. Part II: 不思議な国の響子 Chapter 2

Whether as the result of her sister's instructions or her own will, Ikusaba had apparently taken the time to unload Kirigiri not only into her own apartment, but tuck her into her futon. Somehow, waking up with the blanket lovingly draped around her was more disturbing than coming to in the entryway, slumped against the door.

Kirigiri moved to get up, hissing as a ripple of pain shot through her thanks to the myriad of tiny cuts all over her body. A few of the ones around her joints reopened, beads of blood stark against the white of her skin.

Following a trip to the bathroom for a pain killer and to slather herself in Vaseline, Kirigiri wrapped a light robe around her shoulders and headed to the kitchen for water. On the way, she glanced at the front door, noticing the edge of an envelope stuck in the flap of her mail slot.

_No. No, please._

It would have been convenient for Ikusaba to deliver the next challenge card while leaving. Especially after putting Kirigiri to bed.

_I just finished a case. I'm supposed to get at least twenty-four hours off._

That had never been specified, though back-to-back cases were as of yet unprecedented.

Kirigiri inhaled and held her breath, edging down the hallway toward the door. She reached for the envelope, noting the tremors in her fingers. She closed her thumb and index finger on the corner and tugged, the mail flap clinking shut.

She turned the envelope over; there was nothing written on the front.

Kirigiri bit her bottom lip and flipped open the unsealed tab, tilting the envelope so that a small card tumbled into her palm.

_Dear Kirigiri-san,_

_Sorry for the short notice, but as you probably know, this year has been really busy! Since it's been awhile since I've seen you or anyone else, I'd be really happy if you joined me for a late New Year's Celebration. I put the location and directions below. Let me know if you can make it or not ASAP!_

_From,_

_Naegi_

Below the signature, he had listed the details for an Utahiroba karaoke in Akasaka and scribbled a crude map on how to find it from the subway station.

Kirigiri parted her lips to exhale, sliding the card back into the envelope. She returned to the kitchen and dropped it on the table with other junk mail she had no intention of addressing again.

*******

There had been an earthquake the day her mother had died. Moments after her grandfather had replaced the phone with only a hair more force than was necessary, the Manila hotel they'd checked into the day before began to tremble. Kirigiri had been young enough at the time to think that, perhaps, her grandfather's frustration had been absorbed by the ground and magnified.

“Your mother is dead,” he'd said as they had rushed to shut off the gas switch in the room and dived under the bed and desk, respectively.

“Does that mean we're going to Japan?” At that point, she had not considered Japan “home”.

“No.”

Kirigiri's eyes opened just in time to see her phone vibrate itself off the edge of her futon. She groaned and tilted the screen toward herself. The agency had been swamped with cases lately, and her grandfather had been spending more time in the air than in any particular country. It was possible too that the general cases that kept rolling in might have overwhelmed the agency staff, and she'd need to help with the overflow.

However, when she looked at the screen, she didn’t see the kanji characters for Kawauchi, but rather Naegi. Without a word, she dropped the phone and rolled over. A whimper escaped her throat as the fibers of her futon tickled her cuts. The phone ceased ringing, only to begin again after a brief pause.

She probably should have known better than to think he'd give up. Naegi was nothing if not tenacious.

_He's likely worried. When was the last time you spoke?_

Ridiculous. She and Naegi had met for lunch just...last...

Hm. When was the last time she'd seen him? She remembered their most recent phone conversation. It had been around the end of February, when she realized that excuses about colds and work and vague allusions to “side projects” were automatically spilling from her lips before he even got a chance to invite her anywhere.

After that, she'd just grown too exhausted to even bother manufacturing explanations. He'd figure it out. And if he didn't, Celes would fill him in.

At the fourth phone call, Kirigiri growled and seized the phone to turn it off. This time the incoming name was too long to display correctly on the screen, cut off part of the way through: CELESTIA LUD...

While it was understandable that Naegi would refuse to yield, she had really expected more of Celes.

Phone mercifully switched off, Kirigiri closed her eyes once again and surrendered to sleep.

The clock on her wall indicated that only an hour had passed by the next time she woke up. Her doorbell was being mercilessly rung, a new chime beginning before the previous one had a chance to end. The sound managed to pierce through the pillow Kirigiri wrapped around her head, and after a minute or two, she admitted defeat and got up.

She struggled drowsily into a bra, work shirt, and skirt, and shuffled into the hallway, pulling on a pair of dark socks. The ringing had temporarily ceased, replaced with pounding on the door.

“Kirigiri-san!”

Naegi.

“Kirigiri-san, please answer. We know you're home. Kawauchi-san informed us already.”

And Celes.

Joy.

Kirigiri considered feigning sleep, drafting the apologetic text she'd send later in her head. Though, if Naegi and Celes were concerned enough to come out to her apartment in person, there was a chance they were worried enough to call the police. Considering that she could expect a new challenge card at any moment, the last thing she wanted was the twins to discover that her home was crawling with law enforcement.

“Kirigiri-san, come on!”

“Oh dear. Naegi-san, you don't think she's been murdered, do you?”

“Could you not joke about that?”

“Who says I'm joking?”

Naegi released a distressed gulp on the other side of the door.

“I apologize for the lack of intrigue, but I'm alive,” Kirigiri said, leaning against the door to peer through the peephole.

Naegi and Celes both stiffened in surprise, but their shock quickly melted into relief.

“I am glad to hear that you are still with us,” Celes said as Kirigiri opened the door to let them inside. “I do not know who would solve the case if you were the victim.”

“Yes, that truly would be challenging, I'm sure.”

“Don't worry, Kirigiri-san,” Naegi said with a smile. “If anything ever happens to you, I'll get to the bottom of it.”

_Using what? Your honed ability to file documents and maintain spreadsheets?_

A pang of guilt shot through her gut. That wasn’t fair; none of this was Naegi’s fault. Kirigiri swallowed hard and drew a deep breath, forcing a small smile to her face.

“I would appreciate it. Thank you.”

“Oh but is that not contingent on you outliving Kirigiri-san?” Celes asked, lowering herself into a chair at Kirigiri's table and producing a teacup and saucer from her purse.

Naegi frowned. “Celes-san, please stop saying things like that, even as a joke.”

“Yes, yes. Let's stop with all this dreary talk of murder most foul. After all, we're here for a happy occasion, no?” Celes tapped her teacup against her saucer, producing a sharp clink that echoed through the kitchen.

Kirigiri removed the teapot from the counter and dropped leaves into it before filling it with boiling water from the electric heater. “And just what 'happy occasion' are you referring to?”

“Don't play dumb, Kirigiri-san,” Celes said, smile growing wider as Kirigiri poured the tea into her cup. “I know you must have received Naegi-san's invitation.”

“I believe you are mistaken,” Kirigiri said. Keeping her eyes locked with Celes's, she picked up the stack of accumulated junk mail and dumped it into the trash can.

“That's okay, I sent it out pretty late.” Naegi sat down at the table as well, accepting the cup of tea Kirigiri offered him.

“You know my schedule is unforgiving.”

“I know. Believe me, I know.” Naegi looked down into his cup before taking a sip. He grimaced once, then looked back up. “Trying to get ahold of you the past few months has been really tough.”

“Tough? It's been all but impossible.”

“You both realize that my job is rather demanding, correct?”

“No, we do, it's just that...” Naegi's brows knit together in a way that made him look like a forlorn puppy that had just been scolded.

“What?”

“...I miss you.”

“ _We_ miss you,” Celes corrected.

“Yeah, exactly. And that 'we' doesn't just mean Celes-san and me. There's other people who want to see you too.”

“I can't imagine who. I don't keep in touch with anyone else.”

“Is it so hard to think that some of our old classmates thought you were pretty great and would have liked a chance to get to know you better?”

“Like who?”

“Well, you know...people. Like Maizono-san.”

“Maizono-san.”

“Yeah! She was just telling me last week that if we had a...thing, and you came, she'd be on board all the way.”

“She clearly hasn't thought this through. What would we talk about? She doesn't even know me.”

“Exactly. She wants to get to know you better.”

“I realize that this is not likely to sway your opinion in our favor, but I feel obligated to voice that Yamada has also expressed an interest in seeing you again.”

“Again, why? The last time I had dinner with the two of you, I stared at him in silence for ten minutes straight during his thematic breakdown of magical girl anime.”

Celes shrugged. “I am simply trying to illustrate that you are more popular than you give yourself credit for.” She took a sip of tea. “And, by the way, the _mahou shoujo_ genre can be surprisingly deep when you look past the shiny, pink carapace.”

“So this is why you invited yourselves into my home? To guilt me into spending time with people I haven't spoken to for years?”

Naegi raised a hand, as if to touch Kirigiri's. In high school, when he'd been overwhelmed, he'd had a habit of latching onto her sleeve, as if she were his protector. The last time he had done it had been when, on the way back from lunch, they had witnessed a suit-clad man jumping from the roof of the office building opposite Naegi's.

“No,” he said, “we're here because we want to spend time with you. You're our friend, and I guess I thought the feeling was mutual.”

Kirigiri sighed. Would it really be so taxing to sit in a karaoke booth for a few hours if it made Naegi and Celes happy? Just because she was too tired to engage in most forms of social interaction, it didn't mean she no longer cared about them. And it was karaoke—awkward conversation would be kept to a minimum. If nothing else, Maizono at least had a good voice that would be pleasant to listen to. Compared to her usual routine as of late, this would be blissfully light and uncomplicated.

“It is mutual,” she said, offering her friends a genuine smile this time. “I'm sorry I've been so busy lately. I truly have missed you both. I guess one night off couldn't hurt.”

Hopefully the twins had no objections.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploads will come much quicker once I finish this entire case. Please be patient!


	6. Part II: 不思議な国の響子 Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [264feet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/264feet) for proofreading for me!

Though she had assured both of them that she could find the karaoke establishment by herself, Naegi insisted on accompanying Kirigiri all the way from work.

“Come on, just humor me. We haven't hung out in so long.”

“You are lucky I regard you so highly.”

“Well, that's what they say I'm good at, right? Being lucky?”

Naegi smiled in Kirigiri's direction, and the cutting response she'd prepared died behind her lips. Not everyone was Enoshima or Ikusaba. Not every comment had been honed to a point, designed to pierce deeply into her and embed itself into a vital organ.

“Fair enough.”

As indicated on the hand-drawn map, the Utahiroba karaoke was only a few blocks from the subway. Kirigiri recognized the alley between the authentic Brooklyn-style bakery and the not-so-authentic Mexican burrito restaurant; she'd solved a case here the day before Valentine's Day. The twins had stashed three million yen's worth of cocaine in four separate dumpsters, each bag sewn up with a field surgery suture common in Morocco about ten years ago—exactly around the time when they would have all been in junior high school, save for Ikusaba.

“Kirigiri-san?” Naegi had paused in the entrance to the arcade on the first floor of the building. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. Sorry.”

“Hey, so...have things been okay lately?”

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“Well, because both Celes-san and I have noticed that you’ve been avoiding us for months.”

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” Kirigiri lied.

Naegi exhaled slowly, pushing air out through his nose while his lips remained pressed together in a smile. Though most people thought of him as eternally patient and unflaggingly kind, Kirigiri knew Naegi well enough now to recognize when he was getting frustrated.

“I don’t want to start a fight,” he began, pausing for half a beat before picking back up, “but I have to say that my feelings are getting a little hurt.”

“I told you, I've been busy with—”

“Work, right. Sure. Work and those 'side projects' you're always going on about.”

“There's no need to take such a dismissive tone.”

“We're worried about you.”

“You don't need to be.” Kirigiri closed her eyes for a moment and continued. “I'd rather not discuss this further.”

“But--”

“I thought tonight was supposed to be about spending time together and having fun as friends.”

Naegi flinched as if struck, his eyes dropping to stare at the storm drain at his feet.

“Yeah.”

Without a word, they both stepped into the elevator, the sound of their footsteps swallowed by the dirty carpet. Naegi sighed and pressed a button for the ninth floor.

“Are we not going to the front desk?”

Naegi stared straight ahead at his reflection in the elevator door.

“The others should already be here.”

Kirigiri slipped a hand into her pocket to check her phone. No vaguely threatening messages, at least so far. Knowing Enoshima, she'd wait until Kirigiri had finally relaxed and begun to enjoy this outing; then she'd strike with an urgent text from a burner phone containing a cryptic hint as to her next case.

She glanced at Naegi in her peripheral vision; he had rested an arm on the elevator wall, just above the button panel, pressing his forehead into it. Poor Naegi. All he wanted was a fun night out with friends. After all this time, neither he nor Celes had abandoned her, no matter how little effort she put into maintaining their friendship. The least she could do was play nice tonight.

“Naegi-kun.”

“Hm?”

“I'm actually looking forward to tonight.”

“...Really?”

“Yes. I can't remember the last time I had a relaxing evening out. This will be a nice change of pace, I think.”

“Oh. Well. I'm glad.”

Before Kirigiri could inquire into his flat tone, the elevator pinged and the doors slid open. They stepped out into the hallway and Naegi checked his own phone.

“Looks like we're in Room 915,” he said, turning to head down the narrow hallway.

Room 915 was situated at the end of the hall, in the spot usually reserved for larger rooms. Unless Naegi had been especially considerate of Kirigiri wanting a certain degree of personal space, this room was going to be too big for their party. She recounted: Naegi, herself, Celes, Yamada, and Maizono. Surely this was more room than five people warranted.

A horrifying realization dawned on her. Just how many people had the two of them invited...?

“You go in ahead,” Naegi said, opening the door.

Teeth clenched, Kirigiri stepped into the unlit room. Naegi followed just behind her, shutting the door and flipping the light switch before her eyes could adjust to the dark.

There, ringing the table in the center of the room, were eight people. Though it had been years since she'd seen some of them, all the faces were familiar.

“Kirigiri-chan! Long time no see!” Asahina said with a wave.

“Indeed, it's been...too long.”

Asahina sprung on her feet in excitement, knocking into the table and tipping a glass full of brown slush Kirigiri assumed was cola-flavored. The woman sitting beside Asahina scrambled to scoop up the cup before it spilled.

“Watch it! What were you thinking?!”

“Oops, sorry.”

“Fukawa-san? You...agreed to come tonight as well?” Kirigiri asked.

“Not of my own free will,” Fukawa said, clutching the drink to her chest in both hands. “I was coerced.”

“To tell the truth, so was I,” Kirigiri said.

“Still, we are proud of you,” Oogami said from Asahina's other side.

“Exactly.” Naegi's sister offered her a thumbs up from the center of the group. Maizono, sitting next to her, echoed the sentiment with a solemn nod.

Yamada, sitting opposite Fukawa, snorted in agreement. “If I were in your position, Kirigiri Kyouko-dono, I don't think I would have the, ah, mental or emotional fortitude to weather such an event.”

“Wait. What is going on here?” Kirigiri glanced at Celes, sitting next to Yamada in the seat closest to the door. She was staring at her own hands, folded in her lap. “What are you talking about?”

“What're _you_ talking about?” Hagakure said with a laugh, throwing an arm around Fukawa, who squawked in distress. “Isn't it obvious? We're having an intervention for you!”

“What.”

“K-Kirigiri-san...” Naegi said from behind her.

“This is an intervention? That's funny, I was told that tonight was a casual get-together between friends.”

Hagakure laughed again. “I don't know who told you that.”

“Listen, please.” Celes looked up at Kirigiri with an apologetic smile. “We are all so worried about you—”

“Well. It's been pleasant seeing you all again. I should get going.”

Kirigiri turned around to find Naegi had wedged himself in the door. Despite how his lip trembled, determination burned in his eyes.

“Do you actually think that you can prevent me from leaving?” Kirigiri asked, baring her teeth slightly.

“Oogami-san!” Naegi cried.

Thick fingers dug firmly into her shoulder from behind.

“You plan to physically restrain me? This is what friendship means to you?”

“At least listen to what we have to say.” Naegi clutched the front of his sweater. “Something is wrong with you.”

“Oogami-san, release me, please.”

“I'm afraid I can't. When Naegi spoke to me on the phone, it was clear that you are struggling with something. I know you have your pride, but not every battle can be fought alone.”

Kirigiri held her breath, waiting for the buzz of her phone in her pocket to signal that the twins had a new case for her to take. This would be the perfect moment—it was already clear that her so-called friends weren't going to allow her to leave, significantly cutting into the time she had to solve whatever crime her self-selected rivals had committed.

The phone remained silent.

She exhaled. “Fine. I suppose I could stay for a moment or two.”

Naegi's face broke into a relieved smile. He and Oogami changed places, letting her guard the door. Celes patted the empty cushion next to her; Kirigiri sat on the very edge, as far away from the others as possible.

“Well?”

The table fell silent for a moment, her former classmates exchanging glances like students trying to shake the gaze of a teacher asking a question.

Fukawa loudly slurped her drink through the straw.

“What?” she asked. “We paid for the drink bar. I might as well find _some_ enjoyment in this.”

“Fukawa-san, please,” Maizono said. “This is serious.”

“No, actually I think she's onto something.” Celes squeezed past Kirigiri to stand up. “I think refreshments will lighten the mood somewhat. What shall I bring everyone?”

Celes listened to the orders with a taut smile, then tapped Yamada on the shoulder. After Kirigiri stood up to make room, he wiggled himself off the seats. Oogami stood aside to let them exit the room. For a brief moment, Kirigiri contemplated diving for the door, but reconsidered after remembering what Oogami had done to an upperclassmen during P.E. class once. A broken limb would only serve to impede her ability to keep up with the twins' games.

Kirigiri noted that Celes, in leaving and taking Yamada with her, had left two empty seats between Kirigiri and Maizono, the next person down. She silently thanked Celes for affording her at least this small comfort.

“I guess I'll start,” Naegi said, having taken Oogami's previous spot between Asahina and Komaru. “So like I said downstairs, both Celes and I have noticed how scarce you've been since the New Year, and we're both worried enough to feel like we needed to do something about it.”

“And you know, Nii-chan and Celes-san aren't the only ones who care about you,” Komaru said. “There's actually a bunch of us who may not talk to you all the time, but we care how you're doing.”

“Speak for yourself,” Fukawa muttered.

"Listen, Kirigiri-san, I can understand not wanting to show weakness. It can be really hard to ask for help, even if you need it." Maizono reached forward to pick up the microphone sitting on the table only to pause before nudging it away from herself instead.

"Are you now."

"Yes. I’m speaking from experience. If it hadn’t been for my support system, I don’t know what would have happened."

While she normally didn’t have any interest in the personal drama of former classmates, the rueful smile on Maizono’s face did arouse her curiosity. In high school, she hadn’t spoken to Maizono much, assuming that there wasn’t enough substance there to pique her interest. She’d always been content to leave her unflagging peppiness to Naegi. Maizono had been bearable during the times they’d interacted, but her demeanor and personality had always felt so...superficial.

Of course, she’d thought the same of Enoshima, once.

"Though I appreciate the concern, I think you’re all mistaken. I’m not struggling."

"There’s no shame in asking for help every once in awhile," Asahina said.

"Yeah," Naegi said, "I told you before, you can’t fool me. I _know_ there’s something up with you."

"And you’re confident that this isn't just garden variety cynicism from aging? How do you know that my daily life investigating gruesome murders hasn’t molded me into the emotionally distant soul I was meant to be?"

Naegi and Asahina both snorted in laughter.

"Kirigiri-chan, you’ve always been emotionally distant."

"Besides, everyone here knows you’ve been training as a detective since you were in diapers."

"Even the most stoic of warriors need to sometimes let their feelings flow," Oogami said.

"I’m not disputing that, but really, this is completely unnecessary."

Who did these people think they were? Naegi and Celes were one thing. They were people she considered friends, who had kept in touch with her over the years. Naegi’s sister and Yamada made sense, if only via association with the people Kirigiri consorted with.

But she could do without their class’s power couple and the school darling intruding into her inner circle. They were admirable people—probably, in the case of Maizono—but they didn’t suit Kirigiri’s taste in confidants. Asahina and Oogami relied too heavily on physical contact, while Maizono had that glitter-dusted plastic exterior.

And who in their right mind felt that Fukawa or Hagakure would be a welcome addition to this train wreck?

"I dunno, Kirigiricchi." Hagakure ran a hand through his hair, causing no discernible difference. "I’ve seen some upsetting things in your future."

"Let me guess. You’ll expound on them if I’m willing to part with a ‘small fee’?"

"No, though if you wanna make a donation, feel free, y’know. This is way too serious and I’d feel bad keeping it from a stranger, let alone a friend."

Kirigiri bit back the sharp laugh that bubbled up in her throat.

“Oh. Well in that case, do tell.”

“Okay, right, so you see, lately you've been longing for companionship. Y'know, like a boyfriend...or, in your case, girlfriend, I guess? You're so wrapped up in your job that you never have time for the ladies.”

Fukawa slowly clapped beside Hagakure, sneering in his direction. “I'm sure glad we have the benefit of your fantastic link to the cosmos. We sure couldn't have figured that little detail out on our own or anything.”

“Fukawa-san.” A stern edge had crept into Naegi's tone. “You promised you'd behave.”

“I didn't promise anything. I only agreed to come because _SOMEBODY_ wouldn't leave me alone about it, and promised me a reward in return.”

Kirigiri's shoulders tensed as she watched Fukawa pick up her drink. She knew about Kirigiri's involvement with Sodesaki all those months ago. Kirigiri had begged her to help get in touch with Sodesaki, and less than a week later, Sodesaki's home had exploded with her in it. Fukawa Touko was many things—most of them unpleasant—but an idiot was not one of them. There was no doubt that she had her suspicions about Kirigiri's involvement in the so-called “gas leak”.

If Fukawa were to mention that now, what would happen? Could Kirigiri smooth it over by saying she was taking on a case without her grandfather's knowledge and it had gone in a tragic, unpredictable direction? Point to this failed investigation as the source of her recent withdrawal? Would anyone buy that? Kirigiri scanned the room again. That might work if she hadn't been misled about tonight's attendance, but right now statistically there were too many people in the room for the information to be kept secret.

Fukawa had told her before that she never wanted to hear about Sodesaki again, regardless of what happened. Did that still stand? Kirigiri needed to find out.

“I apologize for cutting into what is probably valuable writing time for you,” Kirigiri said, her eyes meeting Fukawa's. “I imagine you often make sacrifices at the behest of others.”

Without breaking eye contact, Fukawa put the empty cup back on the table and smirked. “Maybe. Though I usually like to put those unpleasant experiences behind me as soon as possible and leave them there. That is, unless some moron feels compelled to bring them back up.”

Her expression unchanged, Kirigiri's stomach unwound from its knot, and she mentally ticked her respect for Fukawa upward. She shouldn't forget this.

“Can I finish my prediction now?” Hagakure asked. “People normally pay good money for this.”

“Sorry,” Kirigiri said, slightly giddy with relief. “Go ahead.”

“Thanks. So yeah. You're lonely and looking for love, right? You're vulnerable and needy.”

Kirigiri clenched her teeth so hard her jaw started to hurt.

“You seek comfort in the arms of someone you probably shouldn't. A real bad boy...er, girl. Anyway, it seems great at first, but then you realize that you're in too deep.”

“Hagakure-kun, I feel like this is making Kirigiri-chan uncomfortable.”

“Nah, she's fine, look at her.”

“She hasn't blinked since you started talking again,” Komaru said.

“Maybe you should skip some of the details and get to the point?” Maizono said.

“Fine. You guys have no sense of style. Maybe I should wait until Celescchi and her boyfriend or whatever get back.”

“Oh god, no. Wrap it up, you brain-dead occultist!”

“I echo Fukawa's sentiment, though in a less confrontational way,” Oogami said.

“So I guess what I'm trying to say here is that I'm foreseeing your heart getting broken, Kirigiricchi.”

“Oh, is that all?” Kirigiri said.

“Brrr, detective. Acting chilly isn't going to save you from death by broken heart though.”

Kirigiri laughed; she couldn't help it. As irritating as it was when Hagakure clumsily struck a nerve with his desperate grasping, it was equally hilarious when he was so far off base. Dying of a broken heart! As if the obsessive urges that drew her to the twins could be called “love”. As if it were possible to die of emotional turmoil alone. If that were true, her life would have ended at thirteen.

She leaned forward, one hand on her heaving stomach and the other pressed on the table to keep her balance. Kirigiri laughed so hard she couldn't breathe.

“Kirigiri-san?” Naegi said.

Asahina had instinctively reached out, making Kirigiri grateful for the table that separated them.

This was unbearably pathetic. No wonder Enoshima hadn't interrupted yet—she could probably sense that nothing she and Ikusaba could conjure up would rival what Kirigiri was currently enduring.

She needed to escape. That required getting Oogami away from the door. Through her tears, Kirigiri noticed Fukawa raising an eyebrow in confusion. Manic laughter synchronized with her own in her mind: Genocider Sho. Their class's worst-kept secret. How did Fukawa switch again? Blunt-force head trauma? She thought she remembered something about sneezing. This karaoke box was hardly tidy—what if she kicked up enough dust to trigger a sneeze? If her memory served, Sho was not very fond of Asahina, who was sitting right next to Fukawa at this moment. If Sho moved to attack, that would inevitably draw Oogami from the door, allowing Kirigiri an opportunity to run...

 _No,_ Kirigiri thought, her laughs segueing into panting, _that's stupid. Pull yourself together, Kyouko. You can do better than that._

She'd need to get the several kilos of pure muscle to move from the door in a more subtle way. Oogami would likely deflect any direct attack.

Kirigiri instead looked to Maizono. She'd mentioned earlier that she had grappled with some vague issues in the past. What could they have been? Kirigiri remembered Enoshima chattering away in the car once about how Maizono's entire group had been caught engaging in _interesting_ activities the night after a fan event in Kyuushuu. Apparently the entertainment company had written it off as some kind of secret group “friendship ritual”, but, in Enoshima's words, “anyone with half a brain knows an orgy when they see one.”

Kirigiri wasn’t entirely sure she could take Enoshima at her word and hadn’t felt any compulsion to look into the story herself to verify her assessment. However, considering how suspiciously guarded Maizono had been since this disaster began, validity might not even matter.

“Maizono-san,” Kirigiri said after clearing her throat.

“Yes?” Her voice sounded unsure, as if she were testing the strength of a crude bridge.

“You mentioned earlier that you understand what it's like to need help.”

“I did.”

“Would you care to elaborate on that?”

“I...well, it was a very personal issue...”

“I see. I suppose that does not matter. What I'm more interested in is your support group. Were you referring to the people present today?”

“No, actually, I wasn't.” Maizono smiled the way she did when interviewers asked her if she had any boys she liked. “I mean, I mentioned it to Naegi-kun, but mostly I relied on my fellow group members.”

“That makes sense. You are, after all, very close.”

“Yes, yes we are.”

“It's fairly obvious if you watch the five of you interact. The way everyone cares for one another is plainly apparent.”

“Oh...you really think so? Are you sure that isn't just your intuition as a detective?”

A faint laugh trickled from Maizono’s lips. To the casual observer, it would have sounded amused, if not genuine, but Kirigiri could see discomfort etched into the creases of Maizono’s face. She was unsure whether it was her training or exposure to Enoshima that had sharpened her perception.

“Perhaps, though once or twice some of the people who work at the front desk at my grandfather's agency have made comments about how protective that one girl is... Forgive me, I don't quite remember her name. The one that tends to be featured all the way on the right in your usual formation.”

“Ayaka.”

“Right, yes. They tease sometimes about how she seems like the selfless 'I'll die for your sake' type of lover.”

“They do?”

“As far as I can tell it's a common joke among fans. Almost as common as the joke about the member all the way to the left looking heartbroken whenever a male fan shows interest in the rest of you.”

“People say that about Satomi?”

“I think the original version was saying that she was jealous of the attention, but the last few times I've heard it, they've made it sound like she was jealous of the attention the men were receiving instead.”

Maizono touched her fingers lightly on the microphone once again. “That's pretty harmless. It's not like it's true.”

“Of course not. I suspect they might be making those observations for my benefit, perhaps wrongly believing me to be the type to follow idol groups.” Kirigiri looked directly to Maizono. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Maizono whispered. She stared into her own lap, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

Kirigiri's eyes didn't linger on her. _This is desperation. This is out of necessity._

Was this how it had begun for Enoshima? The other night, Ikusaba had told her that her first few kills had been entirely self-defense. Her fight or flight response had been triggered, and in a moment, a dead animal had lain crumpled at her feet.

“Each time it got easier,” she'd said, slipping the tip of her knife under Kirigiri's skin, as if she were a sushi chef and Kirigiri a giant tuna.

“Right up until she realized that she'd started doing it for fun,” Enoshima had said. “There I was, finding sliced up critters around the neighborhood.”

“Don't act like you didn't love it.”

“It was okay, I guess. But that's never really been my thing. Physical stuff is fine and all, but what I really love is leaving bruises and cuts on the inside.” With a grin, Enoshima had buried her teeth into the nape of Kirigiri's neck. “Know what I mean?”

Kirigiri scanned the room for the next target, landing on the man opposite her.

“Hagakure-san,” she said, “I'm surprised you wanted to be a part of my intervention.”

“Like I told ya, I had that awful vision of your future.”

“So you said.”

“Anything to help a friend, ya know?”

“Right. Speaking of helping friends, is there anything I can do for you?”

“Hey now, this is your intervention, Kirigiricchi.”

“Of course. Yet, you mentioned donations earlier and I don't require the gift of foresight to know that you have a few...financial troubles to contend with.”

Hagakure grinned and scratched behind his ear. “Ah, don't worry about that. It's fine.”

According to Ikusaba's intel, it was not fine. Two cases ago, her fingers firmly wrapped around Kirigiri's throat, she'd mentioned that she and her sister had gotten a bit too enthusiastic earlier that week.

“Don't worry; I figured out where I went wrong,” she'd said, pressing both thumbs into Kirigiri's trachea. “But yeah, Junko-chan ended up needing to spend the afternoon in the ER and I got bored waiting for her.”

Ikusaba had been surprisingly chatty that evening, perhaps because Enoshima's voice had yet to fully recover from that particular adventure.

“Did you know that Hagakure's mom works there?”

Kirigiri had wheezed in response.

“True story. Pretty hot, too. Wouldn't mind comparing tattoos, if you know what I mean.” Ikusaba's short thumbnail had begun to burrow into the soft flesh underneath Kirigiri's chin. “Found her bag in the nurse's station, figured why not. Thing was crammed full of overdue bills. Kinda sad, really.”

Enoshima had coughed into Kirigiri's ear then, the rhythm mimicking laughter.

“Please. There's no need to hide things from friends.” Kirigiri smiled, her eyes locked with Hagakure's.

“Ah, no, really. It's totally fine...” He glanced down to his right, his lips stretched so that the chapped cracks opened. “I'm getting some help already.”

“From your mother, I assume? That's admirable of her—to keep supporting her adult son into his thirties.”

“Kirigiri-san,” Naegi said.

“Forgive me. I just wanted to assure Hagakure-san that I will be here if he requires help. For instance, if his mother passes-”

“ _Kirigiri-san._ ”

“She's a notorious smoker, Naegi-kun.”

“What are you doing? This isn't like you.”

“You were all kind enough to corral me here and address the problems in my life; why shouldn't I return the favor?”

Naegi frowned. “What you're doing is different, and you know it.”

“What, exactly, is different about it?” Kirigiri's gaze panned from Hagakure to the right. She skipped Fukawa—that was a ticking bomb resting beneath a paper-thin crust of ice. She couldn't quite bring herself to go as far as Naegi and his sister. As angry as she was at him, Naegi was still her best friend, and he would never forgive her if she plucked a nerve in Komaru.

Given that Celes and Yamada somehow had yet to return, that left Asahina.

“We're doing this because we care about you and we want to help you. You're just being mean,” Naegi said.

“Asahina-san,” Kirigiri said, ignoring Naegi, “how is your leg feeling? I see you're wearing a brace.”

Asahina's eyebrows curved in a nervous way and she swallowed. She glanced at Naegi for a moment in uncertainty. He shook his head at her.

“It's...okay,” she said.

“What happened?”

“Asahina-san, you don’t have to answer her,” Naegi said.

“Um, just an accident. While training.”

“I was under the assumption that swimming caused the least amount of stress on one's body,” Kirigiri said.

“Yeah, that's true, but...” Asahina hunched her shoulders and dipped her chin, sheepishly looking up in Oogami's direction.

“Ah.” Kirigiri turned her head, visibly following Asahina's line of sight. “I see.”

Oogami, who had been keeping close watch on Asahina, shifted her gaze onto Kirigiri. Their eyes met.

“I'm sure it was just an accident,” Kirigiri said, still facing Oogami. “Glad to hear you're recovering.”

Oogami grunted, taking a step forward.

“Sakura-chan, please. It's okay. Kirigiri-chan isn't herself right now.”

“Listen carefully,” Oogami said with a growl. “I understand that you are suffering, but that does not give you the right to—”

“Who's thirsty!”

The door slammed open, Yamada entering with a tray laden with drinks, babbling about how many floors up the drink bar was and how Celes had gone to the bathroom but would return shortly. Oogami skillfully sidestepped the door, leaving it unguarded for a moment.

Kirigiri dove for the hallway like a terrified animal whose cage had just been toppled, and broke into a sprint. Yamada's shrill shriek echoed behind her as she rounded the corner, accompanied by the sound of shattering glass.

Though she could hear the various voices in the room asking Naegi what to do now, Kirigiri knew the confusion would only last another handful of seconds at best. She needed some kind of plan; there was no way she'd outrun Oogami. She'd be hoisted by her jacket collar before she even reached the stairwell.

At the end of the hallway, Celes emerged from the elevator.

“Kirigiri-san?” she asked, briskly walking toward her.

Expelling a choked shout, Kirigiri grabbed Celes's arm and dragged her into the room beside them. Fortunately, it was empty. Kirigiri pressed her back to the wall beside the door, pulling Celes to her and covering her mouth with a gloved hand. Celes stiffened, but didn't attempt to break free.

“She had to have come this way!” Naegi said in the hallway.

“I apologize. I did not think she could move so quickly,” Oogami said.

“I know. She doesn't talk about it much but she has...training.”

“What?”

“Ah, look. Now's not the time, and it's not my business to tell. Let's just hurry downstairs.”

After the rest of the group didn't follow, Kirigiri released her held breath and let Celes go.

“Would you like to tell me what that was all about?” she asked.

“Not particularly.”

“Listen, I am normally more than amenable to respecting your privacy, but lately it's been one thing after another with you and I'm sorry, but something needs to be done.”

“So trapping me in a room with people I haven't engaged since high school is your idea of appropriate action?”

“I want the record to state that I wanted to keep it small.” Celes adjusted her tie. “If it had been up to me, this intervention would have included the two of us and Naegi-kun only.”

“What was he thinking?” By this point, Kirigiri had hoped that Naegi knew her well enough not to bombard her with company. It stung a little to think that he might have misunderstood—or worse, intentionally disregarded—her preferences. That was something she expected of her father.

“He means well,” Celes said. “For some reason he got it into his head that if he rallied enough people to cheerlead, it would encourage you to seek help.”

Poor Naegi. He must have been at the end of his rope, trying to find a way to get through to Kirigiri. She couldn't blame him. This entire disaster could have been avoided if only she'd kept in regular contact with him.

"I need you to believe me when I say that things are fine. I admit that I haven’t been the best friend to you nor Naegi-kun lately, but please try to understand."

"We’re trying, but how are we meant to do that when you won’t tell us anything?"

"Perhaps it’s better if we just don’t associate anymore. If you cannot accept that there are things I’m unwilling to share, I worry that continuing our friendship will only result in more pain."

"What?"

As Kirigiri turned to leave the room, Celes seized her by the wrist. She had already begun to walk away, causing the sleeve of her jacket to shift, revealing the maze of healing scabs on her forearm. Kirigiri swung back around in time to see Celes’s eyes widen.

"Oh…" Celes dropped Kirigiri’s wrist and retreated a step.

"No. Hold on, that’s not-"

"I’m sorry. I...I didn’t realize…"

"Stop. Listen. These are not self-inflicted."

"Then where did you get them?"

"That isn’t important."

Kirigiri attempted a take another step toward the door, but Celes lunged forward and grabbed her arm at the elbow. She pulled her sleeve even further up, inhaling sharply at the cuts that spiraled up Kirigiri’s arm.

"Your entire arm is ripped to shreds! I’d say that’s important!"

"Celes-san. You don’t need to interfere. It was just a work-related miscalculation."

"You mean like your hands? Did you just stoically walk that off too?"

A spark of anger flared in Kirigiri’s gut, licking at her like the flame of a candle.

"You’re treading very dangerous water right now."

"Maybe that’s necessary. Maybe you’re in a place where you need help."

"I can handle it on my own."

"And if you can’t?"

"Then it will still not be your problem."

"Not my…" Celes gasped as if struck and released Kirigiri’s arm. "Listen to yourself! Does our friendship mean that little to you?"

Kirigiri looked down to avoid the hurt in Celes’s eyes, but she could still hear the waver in her voice.

"After all this time, you really don’t trust me?"

"It isn’t a matter of trust," Kirigiri said, turning halfway to leave. "It isn’t a matter at all."

She did trust Celes and Naegi. She did. Kirigiri knew she could share everything right now, and neither of them would judge her. Her motives would never be questioned.

Kirigiri felt it—the firm tug on her soul, trying to drag her toward Celes. Both she and Naegi wanted to know, not out of morbid curiosity but because they cared for her.

Celes’s usual demeanor had crumpled entirely now, leaving only a pained, terrified expression. Her face reminded Kirigiri of funeral attendees, or of how clients reacted when their loved one's status shifted from “missing” to “dead” during a case.

"Please don’t make me read your obituary." Pleading tones threaded through Celes’s words. "Whatever it is, we can help you."

No. No, they couldn’t.

Kirigiri thought back to early January, when the Prime Minister’s brother had gone missing for five days. The incident had received continued coverage by the news, and to this day remained an unsolved case. At the end of a work week, the brother had stumbled back into the Diet building with no memory of his captivity. Had Kirigiri been even an hour later, he would have suffocated to death in a huge antique wooden chest.

Later that month, Kirigiri had just barely proven that the twins had been behind a smear campaign that had caused the head of the Tokyo Police Department to resign.

Kirigiri wasn’t so arrogant as to think that she could have solved those cases without knowing who the culprits were beforehand. Her own grandfather was still stumped by the Prime Minister’s brother case, the file sitting in a shallow pile in the corner of his desk.

So no, there was little Celes or Naegi could do to help her. At the same time, Kirigiri herself had become a major liability to them. Every time the thought had crept into her mind as her coital adrenaline receded, she'd clubbed it to death and forced it into the depths of her brain. Yet it had never really gone away, instead stewing in her subconscious. Right now, hearing Celes frantically beg to help, she couldn't deny it anymore:

How long until the twins decided to kidnap someone close to Kirigiri?

It was better to cut both of her friends out of her life for good before they ended up like Samidare.

"Unfortunately, there is nothing you can do," Kirigiri said, heading to the door of the room. "I’m sorry, but this is where we part."

Her fingers wrapped around the door handle.

"Kyouko," Celes said, her voice hushed. "It’s the person you went home with after the reunion, isn’t it?"

Kirigiri tried to open the door, to run, but her hand had frozen.

"That’s when this strange behavior started… Oh no…" The final syllable trailed off into a soft whimper. "We shouldn’t have nagged you to go. I should have kept a closer eye on you. Not let you leave by yourself…"

Celes’s voice sounded as if it were about to break. She didn’t resort to Kirigiri’s first name frivolously.

"Taeko," Kirigiri said, hoping she wasn’t overstepping a boundary, "let this go. Please."

Before Celes could respond, Kirigiri stepped into the hallway. There was no sign of Naegi or Oogami, and she could hear muffled arguing coming from the direction of Room 915.

She briskly walked to the stairs and climbed to the tenth floor before hitting the button for the elevator. Her breaths came shallow and quick while waiting—what if Celes came after her? What if Celes went to find Naegi and Oogami and told them where she was? What if she stepped out of the elevator on the ground floor and found the search party waiting for her?

With a ding, the elevator door opened. No one was inside. She was able to ride all the way to the bottom with only a single stop on the sixth floor, where a group of noisy high school girls clambered into the car. Kirigiri held her breath when they reached the lobby, and she carefully stayed close enough to the girls to blend in if she happened to run into anyone.

Both Hagakure and Fukawa had been posted by the front door. Fortunately, they seemed to be mid-bicker as the group Kirigiri had infiltrated approached them. Kirigiri hunched down slightly, pressing toward the center of the group and looking down at her phone’s lock screen. She fell into step with the tallest of the girls, positioning her body firmly behind hers.

As she was about to cross the threshold of the front door, Kirigiri looked up to check on her classmates. Her eyes made contact with Fukawa’s for a moment, sending a jolt of panic through her--but Fukawa simply rolled her eyes and snapped at Hagakure.

“This is stupid. We’re not going to find her. I’m going back upstairs where at least there’s a drink bar.”

Once outside, Kirigiri broke into a run and dashed toward the subway station, praying that onlookers assumed she was just late for a train.

*** 

Kirigiri’s breath didn’t return to normal until she had put three stops between herself and the karaoke box. Should she head straight home? Naegi had demonstrated that he didn't have any qualms about showing up to her apartment if he felt the situation were dire enough. She could also just not answer the door, but if he had Oogami in tow...

A chime sounded and the recording announced Kirigiri's stop. Her body tensed as if to stand up, but when the doors opened, her legs remained planted. Kirigiri watched the doors slide shut like a sideways guillotine; she leaned back into the seat. A few more stops couldn't hurt.

She got off in Shinjuku, melting into the crowd and letting it bear her toward the highrise district. How long had it been since the twins had taken her to a nice hotel to claim her reward? The most recent liaison in the renovated house had been the most comfortable venue she'd been taken to in weeks.

Kirigiri checked her watch; it was still early enough to get dinner. She stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets and headed toward the park. The tasty Italian restaurant where Kawauchi sometimes met her for lunch should have still been open.

It was warm inside the restaurant, the lighting dim. Kirigiri was shown to her usual small table in the corner and handed a menu. Ordering the daily special and a glass of ginger ale, she reclined in the chair and released a sigh.

That could have been handled more gracefully. If the cuts hadn't been exposed, she might have been able to convince Celes to back off, but now there was little chance she wouldn't inform Naegi, and he would never give up. Part of her didn't want him to. Part of her wanted to think that her friends did have some kind of recourse that hadn't yet occurred to her, and they could pull her out of this ditch she'd dug for herself. Yet on the other hand, she'd never forgive herself if anything happened to either of them. She felt a phantom tug on her sleeve, the memory of Naegi's face watching a fellow salaryman jump slithering into her mind.

Kirigiri's drink arrived and she thoughtfully chewed her plastic straw, pulling her phone from her pocket.

Being here put her at ease. It was a comfortable, familiar atmosphere, one completely disconnected from the twins and her high school social circle. Aside from the television showing news reports on riots that had broken out in Ibaraki and Saitama, the ambiance felt relaxed and quiet. Things would be okay. She'd find a way out of this, and then she could let Naegi and Celes back into her life without reservation. She just had to hold on a little longer, keep going long enough to find an escape route. Kirigiri realized that she'd brought up Kawauchi's number in her contacts without thinking.

Before she could stop herself, her thumb tapped the CALL button and the other line began to ring.

After a full thirty seconds of ringing, the answering service picked up. Of course. The agency had been buried in cases for months now, and Kawauchi was in charge while her grandfather was out of the country. There had been a few times when she'd arrived at work to find him already there, chin unshaven and bruise-like darkness under his eyes, clad in the exact same suit he'd been wearing the day before. Of course he wouldn't have time to answer her call.

The answering service's chipper spiel ended with a loud beep. Kirigiri sat for a moment or two, debating whether or not to hang up.

“Oji-sama,” she said finally. “Sorry to bother you.”

Had he answered, this would be about the time that he'd ask if anything were wrong. Should she tell him? If so, how much? Should she mention she had a falling out with Naegi and Celes, and to not give them his blessing if they wanted to come to her apartment again? Should she keep it vague? Though it was possible that the less details she shared, the higher the probability that Kawauchi would do his own investigation, and he was far better suited to uncovering the truth than either of Kirigiri's friends.

Seven more seconds of silence passed.

“I've found myself at Casa de Zio. It's a bit strange to be here alone. Don't worry, I'll soldier through somehow. I'm sure you're busy with cases, so I suppose we can talk tomorrow instead. Just happened to end up here and felt compelled to call you.”

Kirigiri imagined the stubble and rumpled clothing that would greet her upon arriving at the agency the following morning. Kawauchi had enough to worry about. Besides, one day she had to stand up and solve her own problems, rather than surrender responsibility to him. If she were to rely on him too much, Kawauchi might begin to eclipse more than just her father in her grandfather's mind.

“Take care, Oji-sama,” she said and hung up.


End file.
